Gotham Knights, Book One: Preparations
by Ali2
Summary: Written for YesterYear in 1998, Gotham Knights follows the adventures of Batman in 1938 and the other heroes who joined him in his crusade against the underworld... The prelude was written by Tony Wilson and is used with permission from the author.
1. Gotham Knights: Preparations, Part One

  
The authors acknowledge that names, concepts, and images of   
many characters that may be used here and ALL related characters   
may be owned by other individuals and/or companies and that said   
owners retain complete rights to said characters. These concepts   
are used WITHOUT permission for NO PROFIT, but rather a strong   
desire to peer into the potential these characters have in a   
combined setting.  
  
This also acknowledges that original concepts presented here   
are the intellectual property of the authors.  
  
*******************************  
GOTHAM KNIGHTS  
  
PRELUDE  
"Waking Nightmares"  
  
Written By -- Tony Wilson (used with permission)  
Email -- kilroy@si-net.com  
  
"Preparations"  
  
Written by -- Ali  
Email -- SEricAli1@aol.com  
  
Edited by: Jason Tippitt & Tommy Hancock  
  
*******************************  
  
"Waking Nightmares"  
Written By -- Tony Wilson  
  
It was a cold October night in Gotham. A black starless   
void draped itself comfortably over the city, daring the moon to   
come out of hiding. The ink-black skyline was littered with gothic   
buildings that jutted out awkwardly towards the shadowy heavens   
above. The chilling wind whispered down from the darkness and   
played hide-and-go-seek among the tall, weather-beaten buildings.   
Gotham Square was beginning to fill up with people as many   
reluctantly shuffled out of the theatre into its streets.  
  
The faded yellow lights rolled around the marquee,   
endlessly chasing one another. High above the murmur of the crowd,   
the humming of the lights could be heard. On both sides it read   
THE MARK OF ZORRO in large black letters. Directly below that in   
red was the name DOUGLAS FAIRBANKS. Below the marquee, enclosed in   
glass, was the lobby with its quaint black and white tiled floor.   
It had always reminded Bruce of a big chessboard.  
  
Bruce liked chess. At his age most boys would turn their   
nose up at such a game, but he was different. He was fascinated at   
the endless strategies one could employ while playing. Every game   
was always different. It was nothing like checkers; checkers in   
comparison was a baby game to him, always the same old mindless   
sliding of chips. As a chess player, he had always fancied the   
knight. "You never know where he'll strike from," he would tell   
his father. The older man would chuckle ruffle his son's hair and   
beam at him proudly. Young Bruce would grin back at him and then   
discreetly place his father in check. "Beat you again. You'll have   
to do better than that." His parents were astonished at how bright   
the boy was. He definitely had a future ahead of him. Bruce Wayne   
would be someone special, maybe even a doctor like his father.  
  
At the moment, though, Bruce was more interested in   
hopping from one tile to another. He put his feet together and   
jumped forward to the next square. "Look, dad. Look at me," he   
called out gleefully. His mother smiled warmly and took his hand.   
He quickly reached over and took his father's strong hand in his,   
and the three of them stepped out of the theatre into the icy   
Gotham night.  
  
The Waynes were dressed in their finest clothes; it wasn't   
often they went out. Thomas wore his nicest black suit and a tie.   
On the cuffs were matching cufflinks, gold with his initials on   
them. Martha wore an elegant white dress that went all the way   
down to her ankles. She had her shawl pulled tightly around her   
shoulders, the beautiful pearl necklace she had gotten for their   
anniversary peeking out in front. Her matching purse dangled off   
her left shoulder.  
  
"That was great! Do you think we can come see it again   
tomorrow night, too?" the boy asked excitedly.  
  
"Well, you'll have to ask your mother about that," Thomas   
said with a grin.  
  
"Don't push that one off on me, mister," Martha whispered   
to her husband. "We'll see, Bruce. Maybe next weekend we'll take   
you."  
  
Bruce nodded, satisfied at the answer. "Hey, are we still   
going to get some ice cream tonight? You promised, remember?"  
  
"You bet!" his father replied. "We can just cut through   
here. No need to walk all the way around the block on a chilly   
night like this."  
Thomas guided them around the corner and into an alley that was   
just down from the theatre. The sounds of the theatre crowd   
quieted down behind them and were soon lost. The silence gave way   
to the echoes of their footsteps on the cold hard concrete as they   
continued to walk down the dark alley. Bruce looked around   
nervously; he didn't like the dark much.  
  
"It's really dark in here," he said quietly.  
  
"That it is," a voice replied from the shadows.  
  
A dark figure in a trench coat and a wide-brimmed hat   
stepped out of the blackness. He stepped in front of the Waynes   
and thrust a gun in their faces.  
  
"Stop right there. I want all your money and all your   
jewelry NOW!" he commanded.  
  
Bruce's heart sped up. He swallowed hard terrified at what   
was happening. "Dad..." he started to mumble.  
  
"Shut up, kid!" the man said, shoving the ice-cold barrel   
of the gun up to his forehead.  
  
Thomas felt a chill run down his spine. This menacing   
stranger was threatening his only son his pride and joy. He   
grabbed for the gun. The two men wrestled back and forth for the   
weapon, but Thomas was a doctor, not a street thug. A shot rang   
out and he stumbled back, clutching his chest. Red blood trickled   
over his fingers, and he stared at the stranger, his mouth gaping   
wide. Two more shots rang out as the man shot him again. Martha   
screamed in horror. The stranger fired off three shots into her   
chest. She dropped to the ground with a thud, her pretty white   
dress slowly becoming red.  
  
The man reached down and ripped the pearl necklace off of   
her lifeless body. It snapped in half with little effort, and   
pearls were scattered everywhere, like white raindrops pelting the   
alley floor.  
  
Bruce stood by, his eyes filled with tears and his heart   
with fear. He was frozen, shocked at what had just occurred. He   
felt the cold barrel against his forehead again, but he didn't   
care. His mother and father were just lying there, not moving at   
all. He tried so hard to call out to them, but his lips betrayed   
him. The words were there, trapped in his throat, nothing more   
than a whisper. It was like he was suddenly someone else.  
  
His eyes finally focused on the gun, and the world went   
into to slow motion. He could hear his little heart pounding in   
his chest. Bruce watched on as a finger wrapped itself around the   
trigger and slowly squeezed. He waited for everything to go black,   
but it didn't. An empty click echoed through the alley.  
  
"Looks like it's your lucky day, kid," the man chuckled in   
a gruff voice. And then he was gone.  
  
Bruce dropped to his knees and cried. He cried, not just   
because he mourned the loss of his parents, but because it was at   
that moment that he realized that he was truly alone in this   
world. All of his hopes and dreams had been shattered in one fatal   
moment. Nothing was left except the smell of gunpowder. In less   
than a minute, his life had changed forever.  
  
****  
  
"ALFRED!"  
  
Bruce sat straight up in his bed, covered in a sticky cold   
sweat. His breathing was erratic, his chest heaving violently up   
and down. The room was dark, only a hint of light peeking in   
through the edges of the thick velvet curtains. Down the hall, he   
could hear Alfred's door opening and his footsteps as the older   
man padded down the hallway. It was just like when he was young.   
He would have a horrible nightmare and wake up crying out for his   
parents. Every night for the first two years he called out for   
them, but they never came. Only the faithful family butler Alfred   
came to his aid, to bring him a glass of milk and assure him that   
things would be okay.  
  
The doorknob to his room turned, and the Englishman poked   
his balding head into the room.  
  
"Is everything alright, Master Bruce?"  
  
"Yes, Alfred. I just had a nightmare; everything's okay   
now."  
  
The older man nodded his head and started to slip back out   
of the doorway.  
  
"Wait!"  
  
He stepped back into the room. "Yes, sir?"  
  
"Thank you, Alfred."  
  
"Not a problem, sir." He smiled and closed the door behind   
him.  
  
Alfred yawned and stretched his weary bones before heading   
downstairs to the kitchen for a warm cup of herbal tea. He put the   
teakettle on the stove and stifled another yawn. With the flick of   
his wrist he had the stove lit and turned up the heat.  
  
"It pains me to know that we live in a world where someone   
would put such a great burden on the shoulders of one that was so   
young," he sighed, taking a seat at the small table in the center   
of the kitchen.  
  
It wasn't long before he heard familiar footsteps coming   
down the stairs. Bruce was back up. Alfred reached into the   
cupboard and pulled out another cup and saucer. He was pouring tea   
into it when the door swung open. Bruce entered looking quite   
disheveled; his face was unshaven, and bags were present under his   
tired blue eyes. His red robe was tied tightly at the waist; a   
large W embroidered on the back. He shuffled in quietly and sat   
down at the table, across from Alfred. The chair creaked as he   
brought his weight down on it.  
  
"I had the dream again. It's been along time since I had   
it. I figured I'd grown out of it and all, but I guess I was   
wrong."  
  
"It's quite possible with it being this close to the   
anniversary of their... passing... has stirred it up," Alfred said   
hesitantly.  
  
"I suppose you're right. Will my gear be ready tonight?"  
  
"I'm afraid it will be, sir. I really don't like this idea   
of yours at all. It sounds very dangerous, and I do not wish to   
outlive you as well."  
  
Bruce sipped his tea and stared at the center of the   
table. "I've got to go. I can feel it, Alfred; it's what I'm meant   
to do."  
  
"You are meant to die at the age of twenty-three in some   
back alley in Gotham over a foolish whim?"  
  
"It's not a whim. I've been training for this for the past   
twelve years. All my life, all I did was take, take, take. It's   
time now for me to give something back. No one else shall have to   
suffer like I did."  
  
"Master Bruce, you can't go through with this!"  
  
Bruce slammed the cup down on the table hard. It cracked,   
and tea spilled all over the table. "I can and I will, Alfred! I   
have to do this," he said with an intensity that frightened the   
old man.  
  
Alfred studied his eyes. They were bright and wild, a   
scary passion twinkling within them. He knew his objections would   
continue to fall upon deaf ears.  
  
"Can't you see?" Bruce pleaded.  
  
"Yes, sir. Crystal clear, sir," Alfred said coldly,   
getting up from the table.  
  
Bruce was left to stare at the old man's back while he   
searched for a towel to wipe up the tea.  
  
****  
  
Gotham City was like a spoiled child who needed to be sent   
to bed without dinner. It was a place where the right amount of   
cash could buy you anything you wanted, city hall not   
withstanding. Corruption fed off of the heart of the city like a   
bulging parasite too greedy to let go and too dangerous to turn   
your back on. Old money kept the place going; it was a city if   
industry because of this as well as a den of thieves. Anyone smart   
enough to realize that had either moved on or stuck around for a   
piece of the action -- everyone, that is, except for Bruce Wayne.  
  
His pain ran deep. Even after all these years he blamed   
himself for his parents' death. The guilt turned into frustration.   
Frustration gave way to anger. Anger drove him to the edge, and   
from there he realized what he had to do. He felt that he had to   
avenge their deaths. He put the Wayne Family fortune to work. With   
the profits of Wayne Corp and his family's investments, Bruce   
dedicated his life to fighting crime.  
  
Early on in his childhood it was discovered that he was   
gifted with genius-level intelligence and a photographic memory.   
These were tools that would serve him well as he traveled the   
world to perfect his craft. When he was only 12 years old, he left   
for Europe and spent time studying at the prestigious Cambridge   
University. From there it was off to Sorbonne in Paris, then to   
the Berlin School of Science, and anywhere else he could learn   
what he thought he needed to know. He traveled to the Far East,   
where he learned karate from an ascended master in the Paektusan   
Mountains of Korea. He picked up savate from a convicted killer   
hiding out on an island off of Borneo. He then went on to spend   
six months in a Japanese hermitage where he learned judo and   
jujitsu. From ninjas he learned how to use the shadows to his   
advantage and the craft of using psychology to win a battle before   
it begins. In the past twelve years he mastered over a dozen   
disciplines, combining them all into a unique style of his own.  
  
At the moment he sat poised on a fire escape landing in   
downtown Gotham, watching the scene below with interest. A man   
stood in the alley talking to an attractive woman with long dark   
hair. Most passersby would likely ignore it, writing it off as   
just a pair of young lovers enjoying one another's company on a   
quiet night in the city. Bruce knew better, though; his was more   
than a casual eye. He had trained with the best, and next to   
nothing ever passed him by.  
  
Her makeup was anything but subtle. A real lady would   
never wear such outrageous colors. It's not that she wasn't   
beautiful; she really was a rather attractive woman. She had high   
cheekbones, a good chin, expressive green eyes, and full, pouty   
lips. It didn't hurt that she had the kind of legs made for   
staring at, either. She was definitely easy on the eyes.   
Unfortunately, it was obvious to Bruce that she was not a   
debutante by any stretch of the imagination. At best, she was most   
likely a high-priced whore, the type of woman the politicians in   
this town would spend good money on to take home for the night.   
Her social status in this cesspool wasn't an issue with him,   
though. At the moment her male friend had just slapped her across   
the face, and Bruce didn't take too kindly to people who hit   
defenseless women.  
  
He vaulted over the rusty metal railing and dropped down   
to the ground behind a dumpster. The hood glanced casually down   
the alley, but soon returned to verbally berating the woman. Bruce   
stood up and strode confidently down the alley. He was dressed   
from head to toe in black: black boots, black pants, black long   
sleeve turtleneck, and a black mask to cover his face. He carried   
no weapons with him other than his fists and his wits. It would be   
more than enough.  
  
The hood backhanded the woman again. "Are you talking back   
to me, Selina? Huh? Whores do what they're told, and you've been   
told to keep your pretty little mouth shut."  
  
She tried hard to look strong and pushed back the tears.   
With a delicate finger she wiped the blood away from the corner of   
her mouth. She was already well aware of Bruce's presence and   
curious to see what he was up to.  
  
"Are you done yet? How about dancing with me now? I can't   
promise I won't fight back, though," Bruce said calmly.  
  
The hood turned around, confused. "What the fuck are you   
supposed to be?"  
  
"A concerned citizen." Bruce stepped in and delivered a   
roundhouse kick to the man's jaw before he could react. He   
stumbled back, but Bruce stayed on him. The woman screamed and   
darted off the other way. Bruce gave the man a chop to the throat   
and knocked his feet out from under him.  
  
"FREEZE! Stop right there! You're under arrest!" a voice   
rang out near the end of the alley.  
  
Bruce forgot everything he had learned. His concentration   
was broken. He turned to look over his right shoulder to see two   
cops at the entrance running their way. That's when he heard a   
metal click and felt a sharp pain in his right calf. He looked   
down to see the hood pulling a knife out of his leg and jabbing it   
towards his midsection. Bruce went to spring away, but his leg   
betrayed him, and the blade buried itself in his side. He clenched   
his teeth, fighting the pain. The cops were almost there, and one   
of them was pulling his gun.  
  
Bruce knocked the knife out of the man's hand and gave him   
a boot to the face with his good leg. The adrenaline kicked in,   
and he took off in an uneasy run down the alley, away from the   
cops. He heard shots fired as he rounded the corner. Barbs of pain   
twisted in his side; the running was stretching the already deep   
wound. His vision blurred in and out, and he felt lightheaded.   
Survival was the only thing on his mind. Two more blocks and he   
would be to the car. He was full of anger; it would keep him going   
long enough to get there. This night was supposed to have been a   
special night. On this same night, seventeen years ago, he vowed   
it would be the first and last time he would ever be a victim.  
  
His side was soaking wet with blood and sweat. His leg   
wasn't holding up very well, either. He hopped the last ten feet   
to the jet black Packard and threw open the door. He flopped into   
the driver's seat like a rag doll and turned the key. The vehicle   
came alive, and he sighed happily before putting it into gear. He   
pulled out onto the street and hit the gas. Bruce didn't let off   
of it until he was almost home.  
  
****  
  
Three days had passed since that night in the alley.   
Remarkably, Bruce had made it back to Wayne Manor without further   
incident. He now found himself sitting in the study, staring   
listlessly out the great window that stretched across the east   
wall. Around him four great bookcases rose up to the high ceiling.   
They were packed with texts from around the world, covering dozens   
of subjects. He sat reclined behind a polished oak desk in his   
father's old swivel chair. He wore only a pair of black shorts and   
his slippers. His left leg was in a splint, and his side was   
wrapped up tightly with white bandages.  
  
Bruce looked like he had been put through the ringer. His   
normally bright blue eyes were dull, like they had lost their   
fire. His whole face was sunken, and his dark hair was a tangled   
mess. The medication had put him in a lull, and depression was   
taking its hold. All the training and all the preparation, just   
to be taken down by a common street thug. Maybe he would try again   
in a few months. Maybe he would just accept the hand fate had   
dealt him and play the millionaire playboy for awhile.  
  
He stood up slowly and strolled over to the middle of the   
room. He gave the globe that rested there a hard spin on its   
pedestal. Bruce paused, glaring up at the painting of his parents   
on the wall.  
  
"How can you smile like that? I've failed. I've failed, do   
you hear me!" he bellowed, shaking his fist at the painting. "How   
am I supposed to avenge you when I can't even get the job done   
against a two-bit hood?"  
  
He turned away from the painting and dropped painfully to   
his knees. The man sobbed uncontrollably, burying his face in his   
rough hands.  
  
"Damn you! What kind of God are you to do this to a child?   
Huh? Answer me! You took the parents away from an innocent little   
boy. You left me stranded with no one! Nothing! You broke my   
spirit and you replaced it with pain. Who were you to judge me?   
And now you won't even grant me my justice, my peace? You dare to   
turn your back on me, even now? How am I to make things right when   
they aren't even afraid of me!" he screamed through veil of tears.  
  
Bruce leaned over, his forehead resting gently on the cold   
wooden floor of the study. He sniffed and chewed on his upper lip,   
tasting the salty tears. His side was hurting again, and his head   
was pounding, heralding the arrival of a migraine headache.  
  
"Mother. Father. I love you. I'm sorry; I've failed you,"   
he mumbled, spittle running down his chin onto the floor. "I can't   
do this. He wasn't afraid of me. I'm sorry..."  
  
Outside the clouds parted, and the moon pulled itself out   
into the night sky. With his head feeling almost too heavy for his   
neck, Bruce rose up. Moonlight poured in through the great window,   
illuminating his tearstained face. A blur moved in front of the   
round white orb. He squinted, trying to puzzle out what it was.   
The shape grew larger until it blocked out the moon. Wide leathery   
wings beat against the air harder and harder until it came   
crashing through the window. The glass shattered and rained down   
on the study floor. Bruce looked up from the floor at the great   
bat in awe. His jaw dropped to his chin, and enlightenment glowed   
in his eyes.  
  
"Yes! Criminals are a cowardly and superstitious lot. I   
have to strike fear into their hearts!"  
  
Bruce rose from the floor a man reborn. He spun around to   
face the painting of his parents.  
  
"I will show them fear! I won't fail you a second time!"   
he cried out with his hands held high in adulation.  
  
He tilted his head back and laughed like a mad fool. His   
laugh echoed throughout the room. Behind him the giant bat swooped   
back into the night sky, the full moon rising behind it.  
  
****  
  
"Preparations"  
Written by -- Ali  
  
INTERLUDE  
  
SOMEWHERE IN GOTHAM CITY,  
DECEMBER 2, 1938...  
  
Andre D'Barre hadn't been in Gotham City for very long, but   
he already knew that the experience was going to be a unique one.   
The immaculate little man was picked up at Gotham Airport and put   
into a limousine with tinted windows that didn't roll down. The   
grizzled, gray-whiskered old man who met Andre's plane did not   
introduce himself, but he knew who Andre was and claimed that his   
employer, Mr. Smith, was eagerly awaiting his arrival.  
  
For Andre, the mysterious old man was his guide on the last   
leg of an intriguing journey that began nearly a week ago. Mr.   
Smith had contracted Andre to handle a special job, one that for   
some reason required absolute secrecy, along with his considerable   
talents. Andre presumed Smith was wealthy, based on the amount of   
money paid just to get him to Gotham as well as the fee promised   
at the end of the job.  
The fee in question would allow Andre to send for his family in   
Paris and move them all to Quebec as a wealthy man in his own   
right.  
  
Still, Andre wondered what kind of work could be of such   
importance that it would require this degree of secrecy? Andre   
was not allowed to contact any of his friends or associates before   
leaving home, and as far as his job was concerned, he was on a   
planned holiday to the East Coast. As he sat back in the plush   
leather seat of the limousine, it dawned on Andre that no one   
really knew for certain exactly where he was. Just as worry and   
doubt had begun to creep into his thoughts, Andre felt the car   
bump to a halt, and the door slowly opened.  
  
"Come with me," rasped the old man from somewhere in the   
shadows in flawless French. Andre took some comfort in the fact   
that this man spoke his language fluently. Though it was obvious   
that Smith's man spoke the language as a courtesy, hearing the   
sound of his mother tongue made Andre feel as if he could hold his   
own in whatever situation he managed to get involved in. Andre   
had always felt a little uncomfortable about his lack of skill   
with English and welcomed the chance to communicate freely, that   
is, if the old man were one for conversation. Still, it helped   
Andre to take his mind off of the furtive manner in which he had   
been summoned. In fact, Andre had gotten so used to oddness of   
his present situation that he wasn't dismayed when he realized   
that they had parked in a dark back alley. High walls prevented   
Andre from getting an idea as to where he was exactly, but from   
the glare of the lights and the noise beyond, he was fairly   
certain that they were in the heart of Gotham City's downtown.   
Andre took time out to study his strange companion as they entered   
the rear of the building nearest to the passenger side of the big   
touring car. The old man hobbled along with a pronounced limp,   
using his cane to support his weight; he was hunched over, and his   
dirty gray coveralls prevented Andre from getting an accurate idea   
of the man's build and height.  
  
Though the old man's hands were gloved, possibly to protect   
them against the growing cold of the evening, they still seemed,   
despite the man's age, to be pretty powerful as he took a firm   
grip of the handle and led Andre into a dimly lit corridor.  
  
After a slow ride in a shadowy service elevator, Andre found   
himself standing in a huge loft. The room was one that would have   
been considered exquisitely furnished if it weren't for the yards   
and yards of cloth that lay stacked on some of the tables and   
couches. Sewing dummies stood silent and waiting all around the   
room, and Andre noticed that the quarters already served as home   
to several other men and women who toiled silently with needle,   
thread and measuring tape. Upon further inspection, Andre noted   
that many of the people working in the room were master tailors,   
as he himself was. This was, in and of itself, pretty impressive   
to Andre. The simple act of getting these masters here in this   
one room on what he assumed were the same terms as his own meant   
that Mr. Smith had more than enough wealth and influence to make   
good on his word.  
  
Still Andre wondered how the group managed to work so well   
together, given the equally obvious fact that no one in the room   
spoke the same language. The nationality of each tailor was   
different, and each person, while a master of his or her chosen   
craft, lacked the talent of being multilingual. Andre himself was   
barely bilingual and reasoned that Mr. Smith was taking no chances   
on his secrecy being compromised in even the most casual manner.  
  
The old man's entrance was noticed as the pair stepped off   
of the elevator, and immediately the room burst into a veritable   
Tower of Babel. At first, Andre was overwhelmed by all of the   
voices, the many languages asking that obviously dealt with the   
work at hand, but he soon found himself more amazed at the old   
man's ability to answer each person in his or her native language.   
It appeared that the old man served both as Smith's spokesman and   
this group's coordinator. What Andre also noticed, gratefully,   
was the fact that each person in the room did not appear to be   
afraid or feel as if they were in any danger of ill treatment. In   
fact it seemed that the reverse was more likely; everyone seemed   
to be enjoying their stay and the work they were engaged in.  
  
Some took great pride in their work as they showed the old   
man their latest effort; some recognized Andre as one of their   
contemporaries, and the old man translated greetings to Andre   
occasionally. Andre could only nod dumbly at some, or be in awe   
of others that had served as an inspiration for his own career.  
  
When the din died down and the tailors and seamstresses   
resumed their work, the old man led Andre to an unoccupied table   
with a set of seven porcelain cast heads that sat next to several   
bolts of cloth and what appeared to be leather, all in the color   
of a very dark, almost black, shade of blue. Behind them were   
other heads mounted on sturdy wire frames that gave the impression   
of shoulders. As a costume designer noted for his incredible   
handiwork on capes and long coats, Andre assumed that his job   
would be to fashion some kind of cape to be worn by Mr. Smith.   
The old man placed his hand on Andre's shoulder, guiding him over   
to a small sheaf of papers that sat next to the heads on the   
table.  
  
A gravel-like voice came to Andre's ears as he sat down at   
the table.  
  
"This is where you will work, M'sieu D'Barre, and the design   
of the garment needed will be based upon Mr. Smith's   
specifications as written on these notes."  
  
Andre's eyes grew wide as he studied the drawings with   
notations written in French. Andre presumed his fellow tailors   
were operating with instructions written in their particular   
mother tongue as well, so there was no way to know what the result   
of their combined efforts would look like, but if it were anything   
like the drawings of the cape before him, the final effect would   
be something fearsome. Still, Andre was somewhat perplexed by his   
contribution to the unique 'fitting' that was taking place, and he   
turned to his elderly overseer. "M'sieu Smith is asking for more   
than a cloak; he wants me to create a mask, as well?" Andre asked   
of his mysterious companion.  
  
"Not a mask, M'sieu D'Barre," the old man replied, "a cowl."   
And underneath the steel-gray whiskers, Andre missed the hint of a   
smile on the old man's lips...  
  
*****************************************************  
  
ONE: THE PRICE  
  
THE IVORY TOWERS, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 4, 1938  
  
Selina Kyle, resplendent in a velvet evening gown, stared   
around her new apartment with a quiet satisfaction. For a time   
Selina had hovered on the brink of oblivion, but she managed to   
resurrect her life over the past few months. After that strange   
night in the alley when some nutty masked man who chose to defend   
her honor saved her from a life of prostitution, Selina had   
finally regained her lost spirit. Her ex-husband, Terrance, had   
done his best to insure that Selina would become desperate and   
destitute. After years of abuse at his hands, she gained the   
strength to walk out on him, and Terrance brought his considerable   
power to bear upon Selina. He usurped the trust fund left to her   
by her father, kept her barred from securing a job at even the   
most menial of tasks, and cut off any possible financial   
assistance from their mutual friends through threats and coercion.  
  
What Terrance didn't count on were the friends that Selina   
had managed to make since her fall from his good graces. Selina's   
new friends were obviously considered to be a part of the criminal   
class, but these were felons of the best pedigree, society bandits   
one and all, of the highest order. One of those friends, her   
benefactor in fact, sat across the room from her, sipping his tea   
with a bemused grin playing upon his roguish lips. He was a   
handsome man with dark features and jet-black hair, who looked   
rather dapper in his ordinary black business suit. Yet it would   
be obvious to anyone who met Harry Lime that there was nothing   
'ordinary' about him and much more going on behind the suave smile   
and laughing brown eyes than he let on.  
  
"Did you misplace something Selina?" Harry asked as he set   
his tea down on the table. "You've been pacing around here just   
staring at things for the better part of ten minutes."  
  
"I'm trying to figure out what all of this is going to cost   
me, Harry. You've staked me with cash and an apartment; I'm just   
wondering what the catch is."  
  
Harry did his best to look hurt, but his success was   
minimal. "Selina, how can you say that? I'm helping you simply   
out of the goodness of my heart!  
Can't you just accept that and enjoy what you have?"  
  
"You're a snake, Harry -- a pretty one, mind you, but a   
snake nonetheless," Selina said with a mild grin. Harry chuckled   
in agreement to her statement as she continued, "You do nothing   
out of the 'goodness' of your so-called heart. What do you want   
from me?"  
  
Selina reflected on the things that Harry and others had   
taught her over the last few months. She had been groomed to be   
more than just another pretty face; Selina under Harry's tutelage   
had become an accomplished thief and con artist, able to gain   
entry into any building with nothing more than a hairpin or a   
flutter of emerald green eyes if necessary. She had become more   
agile and stealthy than she had been as a gymnast, or during her   
efforts to avoid Terrance's many rages, for that matter. When   
Harry took her under his wing, Selina knew that he was up to   
something and that eventually a price would be exacted for his   
charity. Whatever that price was, Selina wanted to get her debt   
to Harry paid so she could just be left alone to live her life on   
her own terms.  
  
Harry smiled warmly at Selina as he responded, "Why, Selina,   
my dear, I simply want to help you avenge yourself upon your ex-  
husband."  
  
"I beg your pardon?" Selina swooned slightly at Harry's   
unexpected answer. She managed to find a nearby chair without   
Harry's help and sat down in it to steady herself. "What are you   
talking about, Harry?"  
  
"Selina, I do believe I caught you off guard. I didn't   
think anything a 'pretty snake' like me could say would produce   
such an extreme reaction." Harry beamed politely and then stopped   
grinning long enough to enjoy another sip of his tea. "By the   
way, this is really excellent tea, my dear, where did you--"  
  
"At the corner store. Get to the point, Harry," Selina said   
coolly.  
  
"Very well, my dear, just as you like. When my good friend   
Holly introduced us he told me all about your ex-husband's   
treachery and how his wealth and power had all but ruined you and   
led you to consider, shall we say, a less than dignified line of   
work for a woman of your sort. Holly was appalled but could do   
nothing more than steer you in my direction. After all, though he   
was outraged, dear Holly did not have the means to support himself   
and help you. On his meager wages as a writer he was, at best,   
barely able to feed himself, but if I said no, he would've tried."   
Harry paused for a moment, remembering the earnest face of his   
naive best friend when he talked about Selina's predicament. "But   
that's our Holly, loyal as a bulldog and nearly as stubborn.  
  
"You yourself told me of how Terrance basically stole your   
trust fund, the jewels and furs he bought for you and then tried   
to break your spirit by leaving you in desperate circumstances.   
Suffice it to say that I may be a rogue, a cad, and a bounder,   
Selina, perhaps even a 'pretty snake;' but I can't abide a bully.   
I propose that we, or rather you, teach dear Terrance a lesson."  
  
"And how am I supposed to do that Harry? The law can't   
touch him!" Selina's nails dug, cat-like, into the fabric of the   
chair. The cloth gave slightly, and small tears started to show.  
  
"Who said anything about the law, Selina? I propose that   
you use the skills I've taught you to simply regain what's   
rightfully yours." Harry's eyes had a playful gleam in them as   
Selina realized why Harry had helped her in the first place.   
"Mind you, I'd like to have a cut of whatever items you 'acquire'   
beyond your personal property, and I've prepared a list of   
'incidentals' that may be of some interest to me. That is, if you   
should happen to come across them." Harry managed to maintain the   
mock innocence on his face as he fished a small notepad from   
inside his jacket pocket, tore off the first two sheets, and   
handed them to Selina. Harry watched the smile grow on Selina's   
face as she read the list. "It's kind of poetic, don't you   
think?" Harry added with a hint of laughter in his voice.  
  
"Very much so," Selina said softly. She studied Harry Lime   
for amoment; he still held that ever-present expression of mild   
amusement, asif he were playing some huge joke on the rest of   
the world. Selina studied the list in her hand once again and   
smiled at the expression she imagined Terrance would have on his   
face in the aftermath of Harry's proposed plan. The image she   
conjured up clinched her decision; she was going to go through   
with this. And, more importantly, she was going to enjoy it.  
  
"Just when I think I've pretty much figured you out, Mr.   
Lime, you do something extremely unexpected to surprise me,"   
Selina purred sweetly as she rose from her chair.  
  
"Where's the fun in being a predictable snake, my dear?"   
Harry asked with a smirk. "I take it, then, that the price for my   
helping you get back on your feet is an acceptable one?" He   
drained the last of the tea from his cup and set it down on the   
table, making a delicate clatter upon the saucer.  
  
Selina was smiling and silent as she crossed the room and   
took Harry's empty cup from the table. "More tea, Harry?" was her   
only reply.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
TWO: DADDY'S LITTLE GIRL  
  
THE MAJESTIC THEATRE, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 10, 1938  
  
"Better stick close to the car, Dinah. If there is a   
gambling operation above the old Majestic, Lance and I will flush   
it out."  
  
Gotham Police Lieutenant Richard Drake smoothed his graying   
brown hair, replaced his weather-beaten hat on his head, and   
watched the concern and frustration begin to grow on his   
daughter's face. They both knew she was more than able to handle   
herself in a situation like this one; he had trained Dinah for a   
cop's life from her early childhood on, but his instinct as a   
protective father overruled his faith in his own teaching skills.   
That, and the fact that she was not an official member of Gotham's   
police department. As if there were something more he could say   
to keep her near the car, the lanky detective added, "Supposed to   
be an independent outfit -- no muscle."  
  
Dinah Laurel Drake was mildly outraged at her father's   
attempt at pacifying her. "You two go into a possible ambush   
while I sit on the sidelines? Uh-uh, I'm coming along." Dinah's   
blue eyes flashed fire as she prepared to storm across the street   
and face whatever danger awaited her father inside the Majestic.  
  
A strong hand stopped her impulsive march. Dinah spun,   
prepared to confront her father, but instead found herself looking   
into the pale blue eyes of Richard's new partner, Larry Lance.   
Normally Larry would be the kind of man Dinah was attracted to.   
He was tall, dark and handsome in an Errol Flynn way, but far more   
arrogant than she would've liked. His effectiveness as an   
uniformed patrolman got him pushed up quickly into the   
plainclothes division as the newest hotshot rookie on the squad.   
Larry's being partnered with Richard Drake was possibly one of his   
biggest advantages. Richard treated Larry like a son, and in the   
back of his mind, a potential son-in-law. At this moment, though,   
Larry Lance was half a step away from having his head, cocky smile   
and all, handed to him on a silver platter by the raven-haired   
young woman.  
  
"Look, kid, listen to your Papa," Lance said, not bothering   
to hide his irritation at the girl's stubbornness. "You're not on   
the force, yet."  
The emphasis on the words 'kid,' 'Papa,' and 'yet' were not lost   
on Dinah. Larry assumed that Dinah was just another 'sweet young   
thing' who needed to be reminded that her place in a man's world   
was obviously one where she would serve best by staying out of   
their way during the rough stuff. She hated that kind of   
attitude.  
  
"No, but I've been walking these streets with my 'Papa'   
since before a rookie like you passed the physical!" Dinah pinned   
Larry with a glare that said she was not about to be intimidated   
by this man any more than her father.  
  
Richard Drake stepped in to end the debate; he and Larry had   
a job to do, and this argument was taking precious time away from   
their objective. If the Penguin's information could be trusted,   
this group was going to move the operation at the end of the   
night. They had to go in while the evidence was still there.   
  
"Watch yourself, Larry. My Little Bird's got a mind of her   
own," Richard said as he placed himself between his daughter and   
his partner. Dinah winced a little at hearing her father use her   
childhood nickname, but she knew it meant that Richard felt Larry   
was a little out of line, too. Richard turned to his daughter and   
said in a conciliatory tone, "Still, the rookie's got a point,   
Dinah. Let's wait till you've gotten your police blues before you   
go busting into any gambling dens, okay?" The look in the elder   
Drake's eyes held an unspoken 'Please' that Dinah knew all to   
well. To keep the peace, she decided to relent.  
  
"Fine, Dad, I'll stay by the car," Dinah grumbled sullenly.  
  
"Thanks, sweetheart; you can be our secret weapon if things   
get tough. Let our backup know when they arrive that we've gone   
in." Richard pasted on his best smile of confidence for his   
daughter as he checked his revolver one last time. "Heck, by the   
time they get here, we may have this all wrapped up." Richard   
kissed his daughter on the forehead and stuffed his gun in his   
shoulder holster. "Let's go, Larry."  
  
"Right behind you, partner." Larry looked over his shoulder   
at Dinah with another one of those cocky smiles. "Don't worry,   
pretty bird, I'll make sure your Poppa gets back in one piece.   
Maybe after this is all over you and I can catch a bite to eat."  
  
"Don't hold your breath rookie," Dinah said flatly.  
  
"Your loss, babe," Larry replied with a hint of annoyance in   
his voice. Larry took one last look at Dinah, as if he were   
trying figure her out, but he seemed to give up with a sudden   
shrug of his broad shoulders and returned his attention to the job   
at hand.  
  
Dinah watched, breathless, as the two detectives silently   
made their way toward the art deco facade of the Majestic.   
Richard and Larry managed to reach the fire escape in the alley   
alongside the building without being noticed. Showing a   
remarkable demonstration of stealth and teamwork, the pair managed   
to climb the side of the building in record time and now crouched   
just outside of the gambling den that had been set up in the once   
glorious theatre.  
  
The two detectives managed to find a window that allowed   
them a clear view of the entire room without compromising their   
raid. The room was crammed with people and gaming tables.   
Roulette wheels spun wildly, dealers shuffled cards, pool balls   
clacked and clattered across rich green felt tables, and slot   
machines whirred merrily as players fed coin after coin into the   
one-armed bandits. Money and liquor flowed freely among the   
laughing crowd.  
  
Larry nudged Richard's shoulder as they surveyed the scene.   
"Jackpot," Larry whispered in the older man's ear. Drake nodded   
in agreement, but continued to look for possible resistance before   
going in. Though there were several tough-looking customers in   
the room, no one looked as if they were packing any major   
firepower, at least nothing that Richard and  
Larry couldn't handle until their backup arrived.  
  
Larry saw Richard go for his holstered gun; he braced   
himself for a cue from the older man. Larry had drawn his gun   
when the pair arrived at the end of their climb. He was eager to   
prove he could pull his own weight to his fellow officers.  
  
And one very beautiful raven-haired girl waiting on the   
street below.  
  
Richard's shoulders had stiffened; he cocked the hammer back   
on his gun and nodded to Larry. Larry put everything he had into   
his right leg as he kicked in the glass.  
  
"FREEZE! POLICE!" was all Larry managed to get out before   
he and Richard saw two of the card dealers at the front of the   
startled crowd reach beneath the tables and come up with a pair of   
submachine guns blazing a sheet of lead hail. Richard had managed   
to shove himself and his partner under a pool table as the guns   
burned a hole into the windowsill the two detectives had   
momentarily occupied. Wood splinters, glass chips, and plaster   
rained down on the detectives as they desperately tried to return   
fire.  
  
"No muscle?" Larry asked, angry and perplexed, "It's a   
machine gun nest!" The angry swarm of bullets began to bite into   
the pool table that was shielding the two officers. Divots of   
felt and wood began to fly and the eight ball leapt crazily into   
the air only to explode over the detectives as the bullets struck   
home.  
  
"This is crazy..." Richard's voice trailed off in disbelief.   
"The Penguin's information has always been straight as an arrow...   
reliable..."  
  
"Well, someone let these boys know we were coming,   
Lieutenant, and if we don't get some backup in here soon, we're   
cooked!"  
  
A few minutes before the ill-fated entrance of the two   
detectives into the gambling den, Dinah had already begun to make   
some moves of her own. The setup seemed too pat to Dinah, and she   
smelled an ambush from a mile away. Her father had designated her   
to be the secret weapon, and she translated that into being on   
hand if the two detectives got in over their heads. Even if that   
wasn't what her father meant, Dinah decided to be ready if she   
were right.  
  
So while her father and Larry scaled the fire escape, Dinah   
took a much bolder route. She sprinted across the street, letting   
her momentum fuel a magnificent leap to the bottom of the   
Majestic's marquee. A swinging back flip landed her on top of the   
movie house marquee, gaining her access to the windows of the old   
manager's offices that faced the street. Dinah was glad she wore   
her green pantsuit; it allowed her a freedom of movement that she   
would've never been able to achieve in a dress. Dinah reasoned   
that the offices facing the street would be unoccupied to maintain   
the illusion that the old Majestic was deserted. Dinah found that   
her hunch paid off as she forced the window of one of the offices   
open to find no one, not even a lookout, inside the dark and dusty   
room. She had just managed to reach the door when she heard the   
explosion of glass and the sounds of machine gun fire.  
  
Resisting the urge to barrel into the fray, Dinah peeked   
furtively through the cracked doorway, and saw that the hallway   
was also deserted. If there had been anyone out in the hall to   
watch for intruders, that person was now inside the room watching   
whatever was going on. Dinah hoped that her father was okay as   
she slipped into the main room. Luckily, she blended into the   
crowd of people without being noticed and managed to work her way   
over to the gunmen by feigning the same morbid interest that the   
other patrons in the casino seemed to have over the final fate of   
the trapped detectives.  
  
"I've only got three more rounds, Lieutenant!" Larry was   
shouting over roar of the machine guns and the whine of bullets   
eating away at their shelter. "What the hell are we going to   
do?!"  
  
Richard had noticed his daughter's arrival onto the scene.   
He knew that Dinah was moving in closer to her targets and that   
she had the situation well in hand. "Sit tight, Lance," Richard   
said as he returned  
fire, "you never know what little bird might drop in." As Richard   
watched Dinah's approach, he couldn't help but feel some fatherly   
pride despite their present situation. She would make one hell of   
a cop if she got the chance.  
  
Dinah was focused totally on her objective. Whatever fear   
she held for herself or her father's safety faded from her mind.   
She knew there would be no room for mistakes; one error would mean   
a quick end to her life as well as her father's. She felt the   
rush of adrenaline, but managed to keep her breathing steady and   
her thoughts calm as she waited for her opening. "Okay, Little   
bird," she whispered to herself, "time to earn your wings." And   
that's when Dinah saw her opportunity in the form of a fainting   
cigarette girl. Her swoon cleared a direct path to the shooters;   
Dinah took a deep breath and moved in.  
  
The first gunman never saw the blow coming. Leaping through   
a break in the crowd, Dinah issued a sharp chop to the man's   
Adam's Apple, which caused him to choke. Another hard punch to   
the wrist stung the killer, who reflexively opened his hand,   
dropping his gun. A final blow directly to the gunman's temple   
floored him. The second shooter had begun to turn his gun on   
Dinah, but he never got the chance to fire. A quick spin, and   
Dinah's dainty foot, wearing a thick, wooden three-inch heel,   
caught the second shooter square on the bridge of his nose. Dinah   
followed up with an elbow strike to the stomach that left the   
second man gasping for air as he dropped to the floor. Larry and   
Richard scrambled from behind the pool table, and Dinah casually   
tossed a machine gun to each of them.  
  
"That should hold them until your backup arrives." Dinah   
rushed up to her father, "Are you okay, Daddy?"  
  
"I'm fine, Dinah," Richard said, beaming pride at his   
daughter once more. "You did good, Little Bird."  
  
Dinah brushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes as she   
looked over at a still-stunned Larry Lance. "You feeling alright,   
rookie?"  
  
Larry looked at Dinah and then over to her father who gave   
him an 'I told you so' look, and he shook his head as if he were   
trying to shake away the remnants of a dream before a more   
respectful expression took the place of the cocky one he had worn   
earlier in the evening. "Jumping Jehovah," Larry said in a shaky   
voice. "Get a badge on this lady...  
FAST!"  
  
And in the distance, the wail of police sirens began to be   
heard...  
  
*****************************************************  
  
INTERLUDE  
  
TRACK 14, GOTHAM CENTRAL STATION, DECEMBER 10, 1938...  
  
As the special private train pulled into Gotham Central   
Station, Joseph LaFollette was whistling a happy tune to himself;   
he still couldn't get over his good luck. Two months ago he faced   
financial ruin as his auto plant entered the thirteenth week of a   
major labor dispute. Though the workers were fond of LaFollette   
as an employer, their wages hadn't reflected the prosperity that   
was starting to sweep across the nation.  
  
As tensions grew over the wage issue, the plant's newly   
formed union decided that they had no other alternative left but   
to strike. Things had gotten ugly several times in the past few   
weeks, with the police busting up the strike lines in an attempt   
to break the spirit of the union, but all the attacks did was   
bring public sympathy into the picture. Soon the Detroit Police   
Department found themselves mired in a sea of bad press and   
lessened both the frequency and severity of their raids.  
  
What LaFollette hadn't revealed to his workers how much of   
his own money had gone into keeping the plant open during the lean   
years. Because of his efforts, he was nearly broke personally but   
had quietly managed to keep most of his people paid even when no   
cars were rolling off the assembly line. LaFollette liked his   
people; he considered them a kind of extended family, but this   
strike very nearly came close to breaking up that family.  
  
That's when LaFollette's white knight came to the rescue in   
the form of Tom Bacardi, a jovial blond-haired, mustached chap   
with money to burn. He was interested in having several one-of-a-  
kind cars built with a minimum amount of attention. Bacardi   
indicated that a great deal of money would be paid upon successful   
completion of the job, with a bonus of twenty-five thousand   
dollars to be added if the project came in ahead of the projected   
two- and a half-month schedule. As Bacardi laid out this grand   
scheme in LaFollette's office, the auto maker saw something   
inspiring enough in this strange man's attitude that nearly made   
him believe that Bacardi had checked out all of the angles   
involved to make certain that his plans would happen in the manner   
that he had outlined them.  
  
LaFollette was all for the project but he still had one   
major problem...  
  
"Maybe you didn't notice, Mr. Bacardi, I'm in the middle of   
a labor strike," LaFollette said sheepishly. "Why you chose my   
company at such an... inconvenient time escapes me." LaFollette   
figured that Bacardi was either a very eccentric butter and egg   
man, goofy, or he was gowed up on reefer.  
  
"Actually, Mr. LaFollette," Bacardi said with an almost   
idiotic grin, "your little labor dispute suits my purposes   
admirably." Bacardi leaned across the desk, getting nearly nose   
to nose with LaFollette, as if he were about to impart some great   
secret of the ages with his next statement. "In fact, your strike   
was the very thing that clinched my decision. I'd appreciate your   
people keeping it up for the duration of the project at the very   
least." Bacardi leaned back with a satisfied expression, as if   
LaFollette were in his full confidence now.  
  
LaFollette, stunned, had upgraded Bacardi to a possible   
raving lunatic at this point. "Mr. Bacardi, if this is some kind   
of joke..."  
  
Bacardi's expression changed mildly in what appeared to be   
momentary confusion, and then shifted to a sudden realization.   
"Ah, I see, you don't understand my complete plan. Then allow me   
enlighten you. As you may have gathered, Mr. LaFollette, I am a   
man of means. As such I have my passions, one of which is racing.   
In fact you might say that I enjoy the challenge racing provides,   
the life and death odds that hang on the precision of a turn, the   
rush when one speeds into victory; there are very few things   
closer to godhood than the feel of a fine automobile that handles   
with split-second effectiveness." Bacardi drew a deep breath; his   
face wore a dreamy expression as if he were reliving one of those   
moments behind the wheel. He let it out through his nose, and his   
face settled back into his wide, toothy grin.   
  
"But I digress, LaFollette, and I apologize for that."  
  
LaFollette hoped that he wasn't appearing as incredulous as   
he felt inside about Bacardi's rambling dissertation. Bacardi   
didn't seem to take any notice as he continued.   
  
"While my racing career has been more a hobby than a   
profession of any major note, my status and wealth tend to precede   
me in my haunts all over Europe. So much so that I've had kidnap   
attempts made on my person several times during my recent tour of   
the racing circuit. Can't be helped, I suppose, with two ex-wives   
who are still mentioned in the will and eager to collect," Bacardi   
said with an expression that made it seem as if everyone had this   
particular problem as a part of their daily routine.  
  
It appeared to LaFollette as if Bacardi were actually on the   
verge of becoming serious, but the moment passed and that familiar   
smile returned to his face once more. "While I've always been   
able to outpace my pursuers, the day may come when I need to have   
more extreme measures at my disposal. I'm thinking about having   
incredibly fast armored cars built, loaded with specialized   
equipment, for the express purpose of being prepared for that   
contingency. Seeing as the last few attempts have happened during   
my morning drives, it seems to be one of the better ways to   
protect my person."  
  
Bacardi noticed the still-confused look resting on   
LaFollette's face and continued to expand on his proposal.   
"That's where you and your plant come into play, Mr. LaFollette.   
I propose to have these vehicles of mine made in complete secrecy.   
What better place to do this than a striking auto plant?" Bacardi   
settled back in his chair, certain that  
LaFollette understood everything completely now.  
  
"And how do you propose that we do this, Mr. Bacardi?"   
LaFollette figured it would be best to humor the man until he   
could find a cop; it was obvious that Bacardi was off his rocker.   
"Hire an all-new staff as strike breakers?"  
  
"No, oh no, no, no Mr. LaFollette! You have the best   
craftsmen in all of Detroit working here; their participation is   
necessary." Bacardi's smile grew wider, if such a thing were   
possible, and once more he leaned over the desk as if to keep this   
their little secret. "I intend to end your strike by giving you   
half of your fee up front. I simply want you and your men to   
continue to go through the pantomime of a strike. You know --   
picket signs, angry confrontations, and whatever else you've been   
doing, and keep the attention focused on that publicly while my   
cars are being built."  
  
"I beg your pardon?" LaFollette had now began to run with   
the theory that he had possibly fallen asleep at his desk and this   
was one very odd dream. This man couldn't be serious -- fake a   
strike just to build some cars? Bacardi had to be insane at the   
very least, but it was an intriguing idea if he were serious.   
LaFollette chided himself immediately for even entertaining the   
thought.  
  
Bacardi chuckled at LaFollette's obvious lack of   
understanding. Bacardi shook his head as if he were dealing with   
a schoolboy and rose from his chair and walked to the office   
window. "I've done my homework on LaFollette Autoworks. Your   
staff is on strike, but they don't really want to be. If you   
could assure them that you could meet the payroll with a raise for   
every man on the line once the strike ends, they'd be back to work   
in a second. Before coming to you, I attempted to hire them   
through other agents; to a man they pledged their loyalty to you   
and this company. I respect loyalty, old boy; indeed, I think it   
should be rewarded. So I'm offering you a single job that will   
not only help you restore some of your lost personal fortune, but   
will also give you the working capital necessary to get your   
company back into the game.  
  
"I've already taken the liberty of speaking to your union   
representatives and your striking employees. If you are willing   
to maintain the farce of a strike for just a few more weeks,   
they're willing to back you for a chance at a fair shake once the   
strike is over." Bacardi's statement was made in earnest, and for   
a moment he appeared to be anything but a bored and capricious   
playboy looking for a new plaything; he was a man on a mission,   
determined to have his way for a much deeper purpose than fending   
off greedy ex-wives.  
  
Bacardi turned from the window and reached out a gloved   
hand. "So, Mr. LaFollette, do we have a deal?"  
LaFollette found himself shaking the smiling man's hand and heard   
himself saying, "If you can get my men back on the line, then we   
do, Mr. Bacardi."  
  
"You won't regret this, Mr. LaFollette; it'll be worth your   
while, you'll see."  
  
"Just one question, Mr. Bacardi. That is, if you don't mind   
answering one," LaFollette said suddenly.  
  
"Just the one? Shoot, Mr. LaFollette," answered Bacardi   
amiably.  
  
"Isn't this an awful lot of trouble to go through for a few   
cars?"  
  
A belly laugh erupted from Bacardi that rivaled a cannon's   
roar and filled the entirety of the small office. It took a few   
seconds, but Bacardi managed to compose himself and answered with   
a slight chuckle still in his throat. "Believe me, Mr.   
LaFollette, it beats the amount trouble I'd be in if I had to   
remarry one of my ex-wives."  
  
LaFollette still got a bit of a chuckle from that answer   
when he looked back on that meeting.  
  
A blast of the train whistle ended LaFollette's reverie. In   
a few moments he was standing outside on the platform, shaking   
Bacardi's gloved hand once more. Bacardi had been good as his   
word; LaFollette's men returned within two hours of Bacardi's   
departure and worked double, even triple shifts to get the job   
done. The partial payment covered the payroll, the materials, and   
the operating costs for Bacardi's special project and all the   
while the strike continued on as if no settlement had been   
reached.  
  
LaFollette wished he could capitalize on some of the things   
his people did for Bacardi, but very few people would be able to   
afford what rolled out of the plant onto this private train in the   
dead of night a week ago. LaFollette could've sent the train on   
its way with anybody from the company as a representative. The   
final payment for his services was already in the bank, but he had   
to thank the man who saved his company from toppling over the   
brink into ruin personally.  
  
Bacardi had inspected the contents of the converted luggage   
cars with great satisfaction prior to having his reunion with   
LaFollette on the platform.  
  
"Excellent work, Mr. LaFollette. Exactly what I wanted. I   
can't thank you enough." Bacardi pulled his collar up a bit   
against the chill. "My engine will take them from here. As soon   
as the switch is complete, you can be on your way back to Detroit,   
with my deepest thanks, LaFollette."  
  
"I should be thanking you Bacardi. It was definitely worth   
my while." This time LaFollette was the one grinning like an   
idiot as a brisk  
December breeze swept over the platform.  
  
"I never promise lightly, old boy. I'm pleased to see that   
you've settled your labor issues in the last day or two, according   
to the official record in the Gotham Gazette." Bacardi paused and   
shared a knowing grin with LaFollette before handing him a leather   
briefcase.  
  
"By the way, this is for you."  
  
Opening the case, LaFollette was thrilled to see that it was   
his promised bonus in cash. "It's been a while since I've seen   
this much cash at one time."  
  
"Yes, fifty-thousand dollars is a hefty sum to pack in one   
case."  
  
"Fifty thousand? Our agreement was for twenty-five   
thousand," LaFollette asked as his grin made a sudden exit for the   
confused look that Bacardi induced so frequently during their last   
meeting.  
  
Once more, with a calm smile, Bacardi attempted to explain   
LaFollette something that he considered obvious. "Consider the   
excess a retainer, Mr. LaFollette. I would like to be able to   
have such excellent workmanship on hand if I ever need to have   
repairs done or even order a new car from time to time."  
  
LaFollette's smile returned with a vengeance as he spoke.   
"So am I to assume we have a new agreement, Mr. Bacardi?" He   
offered his hand once again.  
  
"You have something even better," replied Bacardi as he   
shook LaFollette's hand once more. "You have my promise that I   
will, in some form or fashion, engage your services again when the   
time comes."  
  
"I've learned to have a great deal of faith in your   
promises, Mr. Bacardi."  
  
"You should, old boy; if you know anything about me at all,   
it's that I don't promise lightly." Saying that, Bacardi flashed   
another winning smile before turning on his heel and heading for   
his private train.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
THREE: BIRD ON A WIRE  
THE PENGUIN CLUB, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 10, 1938  
  
The Penguin Club was one of the shiniest jewels in Gotham's   
nighttime crown. Within the snow-white marble walls of the club   
were many of Gotham's elite, sipping champagne and dancing the   
night away. The club itself was once the downtown residence of   
one of Gotham's long-forgotten tycoons who took a concrete swan   
dive when the market crashed in '29.  
  
Besides the beautiful marble work on the face and interior   
of the building, it boasted two indoor heated pools, gold fitted   
moldings in the rooms and hallways, an enormous ballroom with a   
floor tiled in more marble with alternating tiles of mother-of-  
pearl and onyx, a fully equipped gymnasium that occupied the rear   
of the building near the pools, and the crowning attraction of the   
whole place rested at the top floors of the building in the form   
of a lush and verdant rooftop arboretum. The building was a   
masterpiece in both design and aesthetics, and at any other time,   
it would've brought a pretty penny on Gotham's fast-paced real   
estate market. The bank foreclosed on the property quickly after   
the owner's sudden demise and hoped to sell the house at a decent   
profit. Unfortunately, the hard times of the Depression that hit   
the rest of the nation had hit Gotham with the same sudden   
swiftness and severity, leaving few interested parties looking for   
luxury homes and even fewer who could afford the bank's asking   
price. The bank was forced to eventually auction off the building   
to collect something on the property, even if it was at a loss.   
The new owner, the infamous Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot, wasted   
no time in refurbishing the building into the Penguin Club and a   
bona-fide moneymaker.  
  
Cobblepot was once a brilliant financier who made big waves   
in the stock market. The risks Cobblepot took were the stuff of   
commerce legend, and his skill at making a longshot pay off worked   
well for the little broker and his investors. Cobblepot, while a   
financial genius, was a very poor judge of character. Eventually   
he fell into a partnership with Milt Biggsley, a mildly successful   
filmmaker with a master plan to expand his entertainment empire by   
building a family amusement park clandestinely referred to as   
Biggstown.  
  
Cobblepot was swayed by the passionate pitches and projected   
profits of Biggsley's plan and invested heavily in the Biggstown   
project. In fact, Cobblepot, so certain of Biggstown's financial   
success, 'borrowed' money from his clients to increase his own   
payoff. Unfortunately for Cobblepot and his unsuspecting clients,   
the market chose that time to crash. Biggsley disappeared with as   
much cash as he could grab, and Cobblepot was attempting to follow   
his example when Gotham's Finest caught up to him. Vilified by   
the press, Cobblepot was convicted and sent to prison. Where   
another man may have been resigned to his fate, Cobblepot   
continued to prove that he could survive any setback. Within a   
year's time, he had begun to provide financial advice to several   
inmates. By the second year he was designated the prison's head   
accountant, unofficially, that is. Cobblepot soon found himself   
with an early release and pardon after a meeting with an   
unidentified gentleman who was said to resemble the governor.  
  
The vindicated little broker had managed to stash away a   
small nest egg prior to his arrest and with the assistance of some   
of his more forgiving former clients, began to rebuild his   
fortune. The Penguin Club was the perfect venue for Cobblepot to   
reestablish his connections and regain his former status as a   
mover and shaker in Gotham's halls of power without risking his   
liberty.  
  
Cobblepot, given his lofty status in Gotham's social world,   
was not used to having half of the Gotham City Police Department's   
Detective Squad barging into his establishment during the dinner   
show. Yet he managed to take it in stride as Lieutenant James   
Gordon, considered to be Gotham's top cop, pushed his way into the   
club in the middle of Louis  
Armstrong's opening number. Richard Drake, Dinah Drake, and Larry   
Lance were close on his heels and from the disheveled look of the   
two plaster-covered detectives, angry enough to spit nails.   
Cobblepot quietly rose from his private table and walked, or   
rather waddled, across the crowded room to meet Gordon's party   
before his guests took notice of the intrusion.  
  
Cobblepot's cherubic face carried a bored, almost detached   
expression as Gordon walked up to him. Anyone seeing Oswald   
Cobblepot for the first time would probably regard the man an   
oddity. Cobblepot was a short, stout man, with a body that was   
nearly pear-shaped in its roundness and a nose that stuck out   
beak-like from his plump face. Oswald was fond of formal attire,   
and his outfit for the evening was no exception: a black tuxedo   
with tails, white silk tie and gray satin vest. His imported   
black leather dress shoes were covered with spotless white spats   
and polished to a high gloss. The entire outfit gave  
Cobblepot an almost comical air despite his carrying himself as a   
distinguished gentleman. For all intents and purposes, Oswald   
Cobblepot resembled a human...  
  
"Penguin," Larry Lance growled through gritted teeth. Lance   
may have been compelled to do more than growl if Richard Drake's   
grip on his arm hadn't caused the younger man to stay where he was   
and let Gordon do the talking.  
  
If Cobblepot were offended by the use of the old nickname   
given to him by the press during his trial, he didn't show it   
outwardly. He appeared to ignore Lance completely as he pumped   
Gordon's hand with an enthusiastic fervor. Gordon was not swayed   
and managed to move his graying mustache out of the way of   
Cobblepot's flailing cigarette holder before it got singed.  
  
Gordon had never really liked the little man, but Cobblepot   
had his uses as an underworld informant. During his stay in   
prison, Cobblepot's financial assistance gained him numerous   
contacts throughout the underworld. Contacts who were more than   
happy to sell information to the little man, who paid well for it.   
Cobblepot soon began to broker in information as he once did in   
stocks and bonds. The police grew to rely on the accuracy of   
Cobblepot's information while criminals paid him a generous sum to   
'forget' details from time to time.  
  
So while Cobblepot was one of the city's most reliable   
sources of information on almost anything legal or illegal   
happening in Gotham, it always came at a price. Gordon knew that   
every name Cobblepot gave up, every scheme he informed on, almost   
always allowed another criminal, usually a rival of the person   
being informed on, to fill the void. Gordon was sure that   
Cobblepot was a greater service to the underworld than he was the   
forces of law and order. But until he had proof of criminal   
conspiracy on Cobblepot's part; Gordon had to tolerate the pompous   
little man's presence.  
  
Given the events of tonight's raid and obvious set-up that   
nearly got Lance and the Drakes killed, Gordon felt he may finally   
have a shot at tying Cobblepot to something big. Maybe something   
big enough to have Cobblepot give up one of Gotham's bigger fish   
for a change. "James!" Cobblepot bleated excitedly, "If you   
needed a table, you should've called ahead! Still I think Armund   
can..."  
  
"This is not a social call, Oswald," Gordon said abruptly.   
"We need to talk."  
  
Cobblepot's features darkened as he answered. "If this is   
related to the 'services' I provide beyond running my club, that   
will have to wait until after hours." Cobblepot smoothed his vest   
and began to return to his table. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen   
and miss, I have guests at my table who require attention."  
  
Gordon jerked the neck of Cobblepot's jacket, spinning the   
little man around. When Cobblepot recovered himself, the lapels   
of his jacket were firmly bunched in Gordon's grip, and his face   
was barely two inches from Gordon's own livid expression. The   
suddenness of the detective's actions were so extreme that it   
caused many of the club's patrons to stir from the performance   
taking place on the stage to the one taking place in the middle of   
the dining room.  
  
"Look, Penguin," Gordon hissed softly, "you're two seconds   
away from being charged as a material witness in an attempted   
murder on Detectives Lance and Drake here." Gordon's last words   
caused the blood to drain from Cobblepot's face. Gordon was   
pleased to see his attitude and statements were having the desired   
effect on Cobblepot's high and mighty demeanor.  
  
"I have no idea what you're talking about" Cobblepot said   
hoarsely. "The information I gave to my good friend Richard was   
confirmed through several sources. I'm not involved in any   
attempt on your men's lives."  
  
Gordon smiled evilly. "I don't know that, Penguin. All I   
know is these two followed your tip and were neatly set up for a   
gunning job. You are our only lead on this one, and I'm getting an   
answer the easy way or the hard way." With a jerk, Gordon pulled   
the little man's face even closer. "And right now, Penguin, I'm   
leaning towards the hard way. I want answers, and I don't give a   
damn who's waiting to have dinner with you."  
  
"Maybe you should care a little, Jim; my steak's getting   
cold."  
  
Everyone looked up to see who had spoken. A dark-haired   
young man wearing a well-tailored jet-black tuxedo stepped towards   
the group. His eyes were a steely blue that seemed to take in   
everything around him in the most casual fashion. His bearing was   
one that spoke a quiet nobility, and the half-smile he wore seemed   
to be something that was strictly for show, something that was   
expected of wealthy young men like himself.  
  
"Who the hell are you?" Larry lance asked with definite   
annoyance in his voice.  
  
The man glanced casually in Lance's direction but appeared   
to be speaking to no one at all as he responded. "Bruce Wayne,   
pleased to meet you, Mister...?"  
  
A booming baritone cut in before Lance could answer Wayne.   
"Blast it, Bruce, this isn't the time to be polite. It's obvious   
Oswald's being manhandled here!" The group looked past Wayne to   
see a massive older gentleman forcing his way into the circle. "I   
assume you boys have a warrant of some kind in hand for you to   
disrupt Mr. Cobblepot's place of business in this fashion?!"  
  
"I repeat," Larry Lance said in a more venomous tone, "who   
the hell are you?"  
  
Wayne answered before the older man could, "Forgive me, this   
is Mr. Cobblepot's other dinner companion. May I introduce Mr.   
Charles Foster Kane? Charlie, this is Lieutenant James Gordon of   
the Gotham City Police Department. The older gentleman with him   
is Lieutenant Richard Drake and his daughter Dinah. Unfortunately   
I'm not familiar with Lieutenant Drake's rather... enthusiastic   
partner." Wayne smiled at  
Lance politely. "My apologies, Mister...?"  
  
"Lance," Larry said, humbled by Wayne's revelation.   
"Detective Larry Lance." Lance closed his mouth with a clacking   
sound at the realization that he was in the presence of one of the   
most powerful men in America, not to mention Bruce Wayne, one of   
Gotham's favorite sons.  
  
"Hush, Charlie," Wayne said to his companion. "I'm sure   
Lieutenant Gordon has a perfectly good reason for his lack of   
protocol." Turning to Gordon, Wayne said quietly, "Of course   
allowing Mr. Cobblepot to explain himself in a less public area   
might help to clear the matter up quicker than wrinkling such an   
excellent jacket." Wayne smiled as Gordon released Cobblepot's   
coat with a nod of agreement. "Might I suggest Mr. Cobblepot's   
private office? And if you don't mind, Oswald, I think I'll   
accompany you just to make sure that Jim conducts a fair   
interview. That is, if you don't mind, Jim."  
  
Gordon looked around at the crowd, who had paid attention to   
the whole exchange. Even Louis Armstrong and the band had stopped   
playing to watch the scene play out. "It would appear, Bruce,   
that I don't have much of a choice in the matter. Okay, you're   
in." Gordon looked over at Kane. "I do apologize for   
interrupting your evening, Mr. Kane; if you want to sit in on this   
too..."  
  
Kane shook his head slowly. "No, sir, I'm satisfied that   
young Wayne will keep things on the up and up." He smiled in the   
direction of Wayne and  
Cobblepot, "Gentlemen, I'll be taking my leave from you. I'm due   
to fly back to Xanadu in the morning, and I need my rest. I'm   
sure you can handle this on your own." Turning to Gordon's group,   
he added, "I'll leave you to your work, officers, miss." And with   
that the world-renowned newspaper magnate turned upon his heel and   
started for the door. The crowd parted for him almost magically   
as he left the room.  
  
"Well, Jim," Wayne asked politely, "shall we go?"  
  
"One moment, Bruce," Cobblepot said with gratitude in his   
voice.   
  
Cobblepot then turned to address his customers. "Ladies and   
Gentlemen, please forgive the disturbance, but everything's okay   
now. I insist you stay for Mr. Armstrong's show and enjoy your   
meals on the house this evening in appreciation of your patience."   
Cobblepot's practiced smile and generous offer won the guests   
over, and the band began their set once more.   
  
With his guests attended to, Cobblepot led the way as the   
small group headed towards his office.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
To be continued...  



	2. Gotham Knights: Preparations, Part Two

  
The author acknowledges that names, concepts, and images of   
many characters that may be used here and ALL related characters   
may be owned by other individuals and/or companies and that said   
owners retain complete rights to said characters. These concepts   
are used WITHOUT permission for NO PROFIT, but rather a strong   
desire to peer into the potential these characters have in a   
combined setting.  
  
This also acknowledges that original concepts presented here   
are the intellectual property of the author.  
  
*******************************  
GOTHAM KNIGHTS  
  
Preparations, part 2  
  
Written by -- Ali  
Email -- SEricAli1@aol.com  
  
Edited by: Jason Tippitt & Tommy Hancock  
  
*******************************  
  
INTERLUDE  
  
THE TEMPLE ESTATE, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 10, 1938...  
  
It had been a smooth ride so far. The wall was easily   
scaled and the dogs that roamed the grounds freely at night were   
lulled into silence with the subtle bribe of a few pounds of roast   
beef. The security patrol was a joke, a pair of out of shape   
yokels who fancied themselves private dicks didn't bother the   
intruder who had come calling this evening. At best, mused the   
intruder, they could provide some kind of sport if the job got too   
boring.  
  
The intruder took a quick look around the grounds, mapping   
out possible means of entry and the degree of difficulty each one   
involved. The window to the rear of the ivy-covered manor house   
would provide the easiest access, the safest route. The job could   
be completed and the intruder could be gone before the guards even   
noticed that there had been a break in. But the back door was for   
servants and delivery people, a class the intruder refused to   
subscribe to, and playing it safe was not what the intruder felt   
like doing. Safety was something that could wait for the next big   
job.  
  
This trip was a personal matter and demanded a little   
excitement.  
  
Absently patting one of the dogs on the head, a decision was   
made and the intruder acted upon it. A quick walk brought the   
intruder in earshot of the security patrol that roamed the   
grounds. The two guards carried sidearms similar to the revolvers   
issued to the police and flashlights that could be used to light   
the darker parts of the yard. Even though they claimed to be   
professionals, the intruder knew for a fact that the last time   
either of them pulled a gun was probably at a practice range   
against a stationary target. The intruder was far from stationary   
though and was about to prove that fact over the course of the   
next few seconds.  
  
Reaching into one of the belt pouches, the intruder took out   
a small silver whistle. The moonlight glinted off of the shiny   
surface for only a moment before it was drawn to the intruder's   
lips. Breath passed through the small object, but no noise issued   
out. For a moment it seemed as if the whole action had been   
carried out for no good reason, but the dogs at the foot of the   
high stone wall suddenly jerked their heads up as if a cannon had   
sounded and bolted in the intruder's direction. As they closed   
in, the intruder's slender hand reached into a bag that was slung   
over one shoulder and waited...  
  
Cal Abel and his partner Sid Graham had walked the grounds   
of the old manor house for the last ten years. They were used to   
the excesses of the master of the house, which had included   
unusual cruelty to those that did not bend to the considerable   
weight of his ego. Still the two guards were paid well and   
ignored whatever pursuits their employer chose to take up. Their   
job was to keep anyone who might be compelled to drop by without   
his permission out of the house by whatever means were necessary.   
  
The guards were a necessity because of some of the whims and   
caprices that the master of the house chose to enjoy. Their boss   
had a great talent for destroying lives and quite a few people   
would gladly be willing to exact some measure of revenge on him.   
Cal and Sid had seen it all, every possible pretext to gain access   
to their boss had failed but each was pretty unique. They figured   
that the former lady of the house, would soon be trying some   
interesting, but ultimately futile gesture to get back at their   
boss for the pain he had visited upon her. It had been more than   
a year since she was run out of the house, but Cal and Sid knew   
she'd be back someday. They always came back.  
  
"Are you sure they ran this way?" Cal asked annoyed.  
  
"Yeah they probably saw a squirrel or the damn cat's gotten   
out again." Sid grunted with heavy breath. He was a bulky man in   
an ill-fitting uniform and his girth was enough of a load to bear   
without the added weight of the holstered sidearm he wore.  
  
"You don't think someone tried to get in do you Sid?"  
  
"Only if the mook's got a need to be killed by a pack of   
starving mutts." Sid shrugged at the notion and looked sternly at   
his partner. "Nobody's getting in here and nothing's gonna happen   
with the two of us on the job. We can handle any surprises that   
come along."  
  
That's when Sid was slapped in the face by something heavy   
and wet. The shock of the blow caught the fat man off guard and   
he toppled over landing on his back in a neat bed of daisies. The   
smell of whatever it was that hit Sid was overwhelming and as Cal   
looked down at his partner he recognized what the weapon in   
question was.  
  
"A steak?" Cal couldn't believe it, but he had already   
begun to act. Cal was reaching for his gun when a second heavy   
slab of meat slapped him in his hand, jolting the gun loose. The   
flailing steak doubled back and connected with a vengeance into   
Cal's face, knocking him off balance. Cal managed to keep his   
feet under him to a certain degree, but he did drop to one knee.  
  
"W- w - what the - - ?" Cal stammered bewildered as he   
removed the steak from his face. The sight that greeted his   
cleared vision was not a pleasant one. The dogs were running as a   
frenzied pack at top speed directly for the meat that the two   
guards had on them. The two didn't even have a chance to toss the   
meat away before they were buried under a wave of canines. As   
they tried to struggle out from under the squirming pack of   
hounds, the intruder casually walked over to the two guards and   
pulled out a rag that had been steeped in chloroform and placed it   
over each guard's face, taking great care to avoid their hands as   
they feebly attempted to fight off the attack.  
  
Once both guards had succumbed to the effects of the   
chloroform, the intruder tossed a final pair of steaks several   
feet away from the two men. The dogs scampered off to enjoy   
another treat from their mysterious benefactor while the intruder   
tied the two men up and dragged them behind the hedge by the back   
door. A quick sprint brought the intruder around the house to the   
main entrance. Digging in another pouch, the intruder was   
relieved to find that the locks had not been changed and the old   
key still worked. A quick turn of the key, the door opened   
noiselessly and the intruder entered the house. After closing the   
door, the intruder finally removed the nylon mask that kept her   
face hidden. Looking around the lavish surroundings, the intruder   
smiled proudly. Selina Kyle, the former wife of Terrance Temple   
and lady of the house had returned home.  
  
Selina was startled for a moment as she felt something   
rubbing between her ankles. A quick look down at the source   
brought a wave of relief and joy to her face, it was Isis,   
Selina's Siamese cat. Terrance had bought Isis as a gift for   
Selina, something to keep his young wife company when he was away   
from home. When Selina left her abusive husband, he turned her   
out of the house with nothing but the clothes on her back. He   
kept everything, including the cat. And though Terrance didn't   
like cats, he knew how much Selina adored the animal. He would   
not only keep it, but he would treat it well just to spite his   
former wife. Almost a year had passed since Selina last saw Isis,   
but the cat had not forgotten her mistress and purred contentedly   
at her ankles, happy to be reunited at last.  
  
Selina picked up Isis and nuzzled her. "I missed you so   
much sweetheart! You're coming with me right after I finish what   
I came here to do."   
  
Perching Isis around her shoulders, Selina loosened the ice   
bag that she had used to carry the meat with her. It dropped to   
the floor with a soft thud, barely enough noise to be noticed in   
the shadowy halls of the house. Selina tossed the ice out over   
the floor in case the guards managed to get loose and decide to   
barrel in through the front door. They would probably slip and   
stumble around long enough for her to get a decent head start.   
She didn't worry too much, the knots were secure and the men would   
be groggy at the very least for several hours.  
  
Moving upstairs, Selina popped the locks to the den with   
ridiculous ease. The wall safe was even easier, and she stuffed   
the cash and bonds that Terrance kept as "house money" into the   
shoulder bag. She found most of her jewelry carefully laid out in   
trays at the rear of the safe. The papers Harry had wanted were   
also in the safe and Selina carefully added them to the swag that   
she had already gathered. Closing the safe door quietly, Selina   
replaced the bad painting that covered the safe door and headed   
for the hall once more. Before she stepped out of the den, Selina   
replaced her mask. If someone were in the hall, she didn't want   
to be readily identified. Isis had dropped to the floor and   
waited patiently by the door.  
  
Selina had just closed the door when she heard a click   
behind her. Her body tensed as she turned and found herself   
staring into the smug face of Terrance Temple. Terrance held a   
gun with the slightest shake of an uncertain hand to indicate that   
he wasn't expecting company this evening. He'd always roamed the   
halls with an automatic tucked in the pocket of his robe, a   
paranoid habit he picked up early in life and never really   
abandoned.  
  
"It seems I bagged myself a burglar." Terrance said with a   
sneer. "When I heard those damned dogs yapping, I decided to check   
the house to be sure no one got in and instead I find someone with   
a hand in my cookie jar."  
  
"Looks that way doesn't it?" Selina responded. She dropped   
her voice an octave or two making her silken voice take on a   
huskier tone.   
  
Selina studied the face of the man she once thought she   
loved. The face was still as handsome as it was the day they   
first met. Terrance was nearly twelve years Selina's senior but   
his face hid the difference well. One would think Terrance was   
still in his early twenties as opposed to his true age of thirty-  
four. His build appeared athletic, but Selina knew all too well   
that most of Terrance's clothes were tailored to give that   
illusion. Terrance was used to soft living and while he did   
manage to maintain a trim figure, it was far from a fit one. In   
fact, Selina would've taken Terrance down on the spot if it   
weren't for the gun he had trained on her. Quick as she was,   
Selina knew that Terrance would get off one shot, and at such   
close range he was bound to seriously wound her if he didn't kill   
her outright.  
  
"Hey, you're a dame!" Terrance said with a slur in his voice   
that was heavy with the smell of bourbon. "And not a bad looking   
one at that. Maybe we can have a little fun." The Dutch courage   
that came with the gun, made Terrance a lot more annoying than   
Selina remembered. He pasted a sickening sweet smile on his face   
"If you wanna get out of here with a whole skin girlie, you'll   
make nice with your new poppa."  
  
The last line made something snap in Selina. Until now she   
was afraid of this moment, but seeing Terrance like this, was like   
seeing him for the first time as he truly was.   
  
Weak.   
  
Scared.   
  
Pathetic.   
  
In Selina's mind, the gun was becoming less and less of a   
threat; the so-called man who held it had tried to kill her in so   
many other ways that this situation made them equals. Selina   
survived everything else Terrance had done, she'd be damned if she   
let him win now. The rage in Selina had built to a fever pitch   
and needed to be released. Before the night was done Terrance was   
going to feel that rage up close and personal.  
  
"Now let's see if what's under the mask looks as good as the   
rest of the package. I don't care if you put up a fight either   
baby, I like it rough." Terrance lurched forward and his fingers   
touched the surface of the nylon mask Selina wore. Selina was   
about to retaliate when fate stepped in the form of a whirling   
ball of gray fur that jumped from the floor to perch on Terrance's   
arm.  
  
"Ow!" Terrance yowled and with a brutal sweep of his hand   
threw the ball across the hallway. It struck the wall and landed   
on its feet in the form of Selina's cat, Isis. Though the cat was   
a little disoriented, she appeared to be unharmed. Isis hissed   
her defiance, challenging the man who was about to hurt her   
mistress.  
  
"Damned cat!" Terrance spat his contempt at the animal as he   
began to turn around to deal with Selina once more. "See baby,   
that's what happens - -"  
  
The kick nearly ripped Terrance's head from his shoulders.   
The man spun like a tossed rag doll and he spat blood long before   
he collided with the floor. Terrance tried to raise his gun, but   
a vicious chop to his wrist halted that course of action and the   
gun skittered across the floor out of reach. Fear began to take   
hold and Terrance struck blindly at his assailant. Selina took a   
glancing blow to the cheek that tore away her mask, but she didn't   
care about that any more, she wanted Terrance to know who was   
about to beat him within an inch of his life. She wanted him to   
know who was about to return some of the pain he gave so freely.   
She returned Terrace's swing with a hearty backhand delivered with   
her right hand, which made a return trip as a solid right cross.   
Terrance would have fallen to the floor in a heap right then and   
there if Selina hadn't been holding onto his robe with her left   
hand. As it was, Terrance cowered behind raised arms trying to   
fend off the savage attacker that had entered his home.  
  
Terrance's vision had yet to clear, but the fear of this   
woman was evident enough as he spoke, "Look miss, I'm sorry..."  
  
"NOW YOU'RE SORRY?!?" Selina screamed, "After EVERYTHING   
you've done to ME, NOW you're SORRY?!" Another kick caught   
Terrance full in the abdomen and he crumbled to the floor. As he   
lay there trying desperately to collect himself he heard a voice   
hissing softly in his ear. "Well Terrance, your apology is too   
late and I don't accept it." Another savage blow smashed into   
Terrace's face, breaking his nose and splashing blood on Selina's   
knuckles.   
  
Recognition suddenly came to Terrace's face as he recognized   
the voice that screamed at him. "Seli - -" Another kick landed   
hard in his mouth and several teeth gave way to Selina's heel.   
Still another kick shattered Terrace's jawbone eliciting a muddled   
whimper from him as it gave way.  
  
"Don't you dare speak my name! You worthless piece of   
garbage, to think I ever felt something even close to love for you   
sickens me!" A blow punctuated almost each word as Selina spoke.   
When she looked at the mess that once was her ex-husband's face,   
she finally felt free of him. But before Selina left, she would   
return some of the mental anguish that was heaped upon her by this   
man. Selina drew her former husband's face close to her own and   
spoke softly, with a quiet calm that brought far more fear to his   
heart than the screaming maniac that he had just faced.  
  
"Listen to me well Terrance, if you ever try to turn me over   
to the police, or any of your criminal friends I'll make good on   
this one promise; I'll be back before they get me and I will kill   
you. And Terrance" Selina added with a grim smile, "I was being   
gentle tonight, next time I'll give it to you just the way you   
like it, lover. Nice and rough, my dear, VERY rough." Terrance   
fell into blissful oblivion at that point and Selina dropped him   
to the floor with as if he were dirty laundry.  
  
Isis mewed as Selina began to leave. She turned and picked   
up the cat and stroked it affectionately, "C'mon sweetheart, let's   
go home." Isis nuzzled Selina's chin and purred happily. "If it   
weren't for you, I might not have made it." Selina became   
thoughtful for a moment, "You know some would take your little   
rescue as an omen. Maybe..." Selina dropped the thought and   
grabbed her bags. "Maybe..." Selina repeated again softly as she   
and Isis melted into the night.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
FOUR: THE RUMOR MILL  
  
THE PENGUIN CLUB, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 10, 1938  
  
"I'm telling you Jim, I don't know anything!"  
  
Oswald Cobblepot squirmed uncomfortably in his chair as he   
repeated the same answer to James Gordon's questions for the   
fourth time. At his side sat Bruce Wayne, one of Gotham's   
favorite sons and an interested party in the interrogation.   
Across from the rotund little nightclub owner sat Lieutenant James   
Gordon, one of Gotham's Finest in every sense of the word. The   
rugged detective had come calling after an attempt was made on the   
lives of the two officers that sat behind him, Larry Lance and   
Richard Drake, earlier in the evening. Also present in   
Cobblepot's office was Dinah Drake, the daughter of Richard Drake   
who was responsible for saving the lives of her father and his   
rookie detective partner.  
  
"I don't believe that! I need something Penguin, and we're   
not leaving here until I have some information to work with!   
You're going to give me a name Oswald or by God, you'll go over   
for the attempt on my boys as a co-conspirator after the fact!"   
Gordon had managed to keep his tone within the realm of calm, but   
just barely. Even Wayne, who had maintained an air of polite   
boredom up to this point, looked momentarily concerned over the   
obvious frustration in Gordon's attitude.  
  
"Jim" Cobblepot said in a pleading voice, "I can't do that.   
I --"  
  
"DON'T TELL ME WHAT YOU CAN'T DO!!! THIS IS NOT A DAMNED   
GAME PENGUIN!!!" Gordon was practically roaring as his clenched   
fist stuck the huge desk that separated the little man from the   
angry detective. Everyone jumped in shock at Gordon's sudden   
reaction and before anyone even saw him move, Wayne had somehow   
managed to rise from his chair, where he seemed to be casually   
lounging, to Gordon's side with one fluid motion.  
  
"Jim, take it easy. Blowing up at Oswald isn't going to   
solve anything!" Wayne had a firm grip on the detective's   
shoulder. Gordon hadn't realized it until he heard Wayne's voice,   
but the younger man was far more alert and responsive to what was   
going on in the room than he appeared to be.  
  
"It's okay Bruce," Gordon said softly as his body relaxed,   
"I just lost my temper for a moment. I'm fine now." Gordon sat   
back down and Wayne returned to his chair in a languid fashion   
that wasn't present a second ago. It was as if Wayne had become   
another man as he fell, once more, into his seat and the more   
familiar casual attitude he had .  
  
"Jim" The Penguin said softly from his seat. "I really want   
to give you a hand here, but the people who talk to me trust me to   
keep their identities a secret. If I violate that trust   
Lieutenant, I stand the chance of going from a valuable commodity   
to you and other 'interested parties' to a liability with the   
potential to find myself belly up in the morgue. A fate I'd like   
to avoid whenever possible. Surely you can understand my position   
here."   
  
"No Oswald I don't." Jim replied sharply, "But you may as   
well prepare to stay here until I get a better answer. I'm not   
cutting any deals when the safety of my men are involved."  
  
Everyone in the room was tired. Gordon had been questioning   
Cobblepot, better known to the public at large as the Penguin, for   
the better part of two hours with little success. Gordon sighed   
and rose from the chair to stretch. Though he was starting to   
gray some, James Gordon was still a fairly youthful looking man.   
His face had a stony, almost grim set to it that most cops on the   
beat gain as they see the gut wrenching horrors of the city and   
the cruelty of man towards his fellow man. Yet Gordon was not   
jaded by his experiences on the beat, in fact it seemed to bring   
him closer to the human condition. Despite everything that Gordon   
had seen on Gotham's mean streets, he refused to throw in the   
towel and give up on the people of this city.  
  
Still there were times when Gordon's patience wore thin and   
this was rapidly becoming one of them. The men who served with   
him on the squad were some of the best, Gordon trusted these men   
with his life a dozen times over and they had yet to fail him. To   
know that any of them may have been intentionally sent into harm's   
way after all of the good they had done for the city was something   
he took personally. Still Gordon knew he had to regain control of   
his emotions for the sake of the investigation. When he finally   
turned to face the Penguin again, Gordon had managed to regain his   
composure.  
  
"Okay Oswald, let's take this from the top." Gordon began   
in a tired voice. He was already steeling himself for another   
series of denials from the club owner, but he was also determined   
to break down the Penguin and get him to roll over on his source.   
  
"If I might make a suggestion Jim." Bruce chimed in   
quietly.  
  
Gordon looked up sharply at Wayne and studied his keen blue   
eyes. There was a fire there that Jim hadn't noticed before. The   
eyes that looked back at Gordon belonged to the alert man that was   
at Gordon's side earlier. That man had taken the place of the   
lounging playboy once more. Gordon had learned a long time ago   
when to trust his gut on things. It appeared as if one of those   
moments had arrived as he looked at Wayne's calm face.  
  
"Sure Bruce, go ahead."  
  
"Well I don't want to seem rude Jim," Wayne said with a lazy   
air in his voice. "but maybe it would be best if the detectives   
and the young lady would leave us alone for a while; possibly wait   
in the other room before I go any further with my suggestion."  
  
Larry Lance was out of his chair before Wayne had finished   
his sentence. "You can't be serious! Lieutenant, who's running   
this show, us or this spoiled rich guy?"  
  
"The spoiled rich guy," Gordon said flatly before adding,   
"with my approval. I've known Bruce for a long time Lance, he's   
done this department a good turn or two over the years and I'm   
willing to give him some room if it helps us get some answers as   
to why you two were nearly ventilated on a routine raid. Now go   
home, get cleaned up and meet me at the precinct tomorrow after   
you've gotten some rest. Bruce and I can handle it from here."  
  
"Fine." Lance said with a huff. "Now we're taking our cues   
from some armchair detective who doesn't know the first damned   
thing about police work. Why don't we make the Green Lantern the   
next mayor while we're at it?" Lance looked over to Drake and   
Dinah hoping to find some support but their reaction was something   
he didn't expect. Richard Drake shook his head as if Lance had   
just insulted the Pope and Dinah shot a withering stare at the   
young detective that left him confused.  
  
"You must be going for the 'hoof in mouth' championship   
today, right rookie?" Dinah said coolly. "It's obvious you're not   
a local boy."  
  
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Lance asked   
dumbfounded.  
  
"Watch how talk to my daughter Larry." Richard Drake said   
with a hint of menace in his voice.  
  
Dinah softly laid her hand on her father's shoulder, "Now   
Daddy the rookie doesn't know when to shut his mouth and learn   
something, so I'll help him out." Dinah rose from her chair and   
strolled over to Wayne and sat on the arm of his chair. "That is   
unless you want the pleasure Bruce."  
  
Wayne had a sleepy smile on his face as he answered. "Miss   
Drake it really isn't anything to brag about." Noting Lance's   
confused expression, Wayne sighed, "But if it will help move   
things along I will bring the detective up to speed. You see   
Mister Lance, this is not my first foray into the world of   
criminal investigation, have you ever heard of Harvey Harris?"  
  
"Who hasn't? 'Hard-boiled Harris' is still one of the   
toughest plainclothes bulls on the squad. He's a living legend in   
this town. What he do, save your life one night or something?"  
  
"Actually, I saved his. Followed him into a raid that   
almost went wrong much like Miss Drake did for you tonight."   
Dinah flushed a little and returned to her chair. "Suffice it to   
say that Harvey was grateful for my aid and chose to take me under   
his wing. Ah, the days of my reckless youth."  
  
"Wait a sec, YOU were his kid partner?" The shock was   
evident on Lance's face. "Hell, I grew up wishing I could be in   
your shoes, you were some kind of junior G-man, the GCPD's kid   
mascot!" Lance stopped his enthusiastic gushing, realizing he had   
fallen into a hero worship of a man he had clearly deemed   
worthless a few moments ago. "Hey wait a second! That kid had   
another name and red hair."  
  
"Harvey felt the disguise was necessary," responded Wayne   
with a bit of a yawn. "No guff from my trustees or guardian and   
all that. But we did have some pretty good times." Wayne looked   
at the young detective and added, "With my pedigree sufficiently   
established is it possible that Jim, Oswald and I can have a few   
moments alone?"  
  
The trio rose from their seats and said their respective   
good-byes, Drake with a quiet air of satisfaction, Lance with the   
proper amount of sheepishness and Dinah with a long look at Wayne   
as she left the room.  
  
When the group had gone Wayne smiled another sleepy smile   
and turned to Cobblepot. "Oswald, hypothetically, who would want   
to do harm to Drake and Lance?"  
  
"I beg your pardon Bruce?" Cobblepot said confused, "I just   
said that I can't betray my source."  
  
"I'm not asking you to old boy. I'm asking you for an   
opinion based on you've heard about the movements of the   
underworld, think of it as you would if you were giving a stock   
tip based on rumors in the market." Wayne smiled as Gordon and   
Cobblepot stared blankly at him. "Well if Oswald finds himself on   
a witness stand," Bruce explained, "he could safely say that he   
never revealed his source. All he's doing here is offering   
speculation and that by basic definition, is not what you've been   
asking him to do all. Oswald?"  
  
Gordon and Cobblepot both smiled as they realized what Bruce   
was driving at. It gave both men an option out of the stalemate.   
Wayne's solution may be a simple matter of semantics but it was an   
elegant way to solve the problem. Plus if the matter ever went   
beyond these doors to a courtroom, Cobblepot's reputation for   
keeping his mouth closed would be secure.  
  
"Well that's a different subject altogether Bruce. I'd be   
very happy to give Jim an opinion regarding possible suspects   
worth seeking out."  
  
"Of course I would appreciate any suggestions you could   
provide. What have you heard Oswald?" Gordon asked politely.  
  
Cobblepot settled back in his oversized chair pleased with   
the change in Gordon's demeanor. It was a gentleman's game once   
more and Cobblepot was in his element. He lit a fresh cigarette,   
placed it in the holder and began to talk. "Well rumor has it   
that there is a struggle for power in the underworld between the   
venerable Maroni Family and Tony Zucco."  
  
"Not 'Fat Tony' Zucco?" Wayne asked quietly.   
  
"The same." Cobblepot replied before he continued, "Zucco   
used to handle the protection rackets all over Gotham but he has   
recently fallen out of favor with the Maroni Family. This fall   
from grace has forced Zucco to move his operation to one of the   
outlying counties near the city. Mind you the profit margin has   
dropped considerably with the move to the sticks and Zucco looks   
to unseat the powers that be in the underworld, using Gat Benson   
as his muscle. But only one thing stands in his way besides the   
Maronis." Cobblepot enjoyed another drag from his cigarette.   
"That of course is you and your squad of detectives Jim."  
  
"Well of course the department's going to respond to any   
rise in criminal activity, especially in the mobs." Gordon said   
in a matter of fact tone.  
  
"No Jim, the department in general is not as quick to   
respond to the mobs as your detective squad." Wayne replied, "If   
other rumors are to be believed, a lot of the boys on the force   
are on the take and willing to look the other way if it means a   
nice payoff."   
  
"I concur" Cobblepot added. "The last nine years have been   
hard on everyone, even the law. Even so Jim, you have brought   
together a group of officers that are above reproach. Your men   
are ethical and relentless on keeping the mobs in line and with   
the recent election of Harvey Dent to the DA's office on a get   
tough on organized crime platform and the dashing Green Lantern's   
debut in our fair city, it's getting a little hot for the current   
underworld as well as any challengers from out of town."  
  
"So why Jim's squad Oswald? Why not the Green Lantern or   
Dent or even Jim himself?" Wayne queried.  
  
"Jim's too well-known and well liked by the public at   
large." The little man said with a broad smile. "He's Gotham's   
hero cop, a man who will make sure that justice is done no matter   
what and all of Gotham knows this. If you kill him you open a   
nasty can of worms with the Feds, the DA's office and such. The   
same applies to Dent. The Green Lantern, of course has powers   
that make him hard to kill as well as a secret identity, but   
Gordon's men are nameless faces that weaken the whole chain   
without any major backlash by the public or other law enforcement   
agencies."  
  
"So then I'm looking for Gat Benson and Zucco." Gordon   
thought a moment and asked. "Why not the Maroni Family too?"  
  
"Because Jim you provide them an invaluable service."   
Cobblepot said with a small hint of irony in his voice. "Your   
diligent efforts tend to keep the competition out of Gotham. Dent   
may change all of that eventually, but for now you are more of an   
asset than a liability to the Maroni mob."  
  
"When I collar Benson and Zucco, I'll see what I can do   
about changing that." Gordon replied grimly as he rose from the   
chair to leave. "Oswald, I appreciate your walk through the rumor   
mill, it's been enlightening. I'll try to make sure that your   
name stays out of this mess." Gordon turned to Wayne, "Bruce   
thanks for your help too."  
  
Wayne smiled at the gruff detective, "My pleasure Jim, but   
it may take a little more than not mentioning Oswald's name to   
keep the underworld from growing suspicious."  
  
"Whatever do you mean Bruce?" Cobblepot asked with sudden   
anxiety.  
  
"I'm afraid Oswald you may have to spend a night or two in   
jail." Bruce replied.  
  
"Why? On what charge?!" Cobblepot sputtered.  
  
"You're supposed to be a material witness, a suspected co-  
conspirator in an attempted murder." Bruce said with conviction.   
"It would seem odd if Jim didn't take you in for questioning at   
the very least."  
  
It was Jim Gordon's turn to smile ironically at the little   
man. "You know, you have something there Bruce. Yeah, it would   
probably be best if the Penguin were seen in the cooler for at   
least a couple of days."  
  
"You can't be serious!" Cobblepot complained.  
  
"It really is the only way to keep suspicion off of you   
Oswald." Bruce said good-naturedly, "I mean after all, old boy,   
think of your image."  
  
Gordon's smile grew a little wider as he brought out the   
cuffs.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
INTERLUDE  
  
SOMEWHERE IN GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 11, 1938, 1:07 A.M.  
  
It was a dull, gray shop in a dingy little alley, on a   
lonesome dirty street, in a long forgotten part of town. The   
faded sign that swayed slightly in the light breeze bore faint   
letters that read:  
  
KITTLEMEIER'S SPECIALTY SHOP  
UNIQUE ITEMS MADE TO ORDER  
  
To the casual observer, that's if one ever came out to this   
part of town, it would seem as if the shop had been closed up long   
ago. Inside the small store was a curtained doorway, a counter, a   
cash register and a lamp. The only sign of life at all was an   
unseen radio that softly piped classical music into the shop. It   
was often a topic of conversation among the locals in the   
neighborhood as to what trade was being applied inside the dirty   
little place. No one seemed to really know, but in this part of   
town it was prudent for one to mind his own business and let   
others tend to theirs.  
  
It was still the wee hours of the morning when a black coupe   
pulled up in front of the little shop, depositing a dapper young   
man in evening dress on the front stoop of the shop. The man   
tapped twice waited a few seconds and tapped three more times on   
the door. Satisfied that he had used the correct sequence, the   
man turned the knob and let himself in.  
  
As the door closed, a tiny bell softly tinkled announcing   
the new arrival to the store. The young man had a short wait   
before the curtains parted to reveal an elderly man in a rumpled   
pair of brown pants with a matching vest, scuffed brown leather   
shoes, and a dingy shirt that may have once been white but had   
long since given up hope of ever returning to that state.   
Wrinkles had plowed deep grooves into the man's face and his eyes   
were almost bug like from behind the thick lenses of his oversized   
glasses. Stubble covered his unshaved chin in a sprinkling of   
snow white and steel gray, and his thin hair was greasy and   
uncombed. He walked hunched over slightly as if the massive   
glasses on the bridge of his nose were too much weight to bear on   
his frail body. He didn't smile at his guest, nor did he frown,   
he just looked at the young man and pointed a bony finger at him.  
  
"You're late." the old man stated.  
  
"Unavoidable Mister Kittlemeier. I had something unexpected   
come up."  
  
"No excuses young man, my rules are very clear on this   
point." The old man shuffled behind the counter and started to   
check the shelves below. "I maintain a strict timetable to   
accommodate my customers. If you can't be prompt, then we can't   
do business. As if to emphasize his point, Kittlemeier deposited   
a plain paper bag onto the countertop. "Please feel free to   
examine the goods, but do so in a hurry, my next customer is due   
in twenty minutes."  
  
The tall young man's interest was aroused, but he refrained   
from asking any questions, Kittlemeier's other rules included   
complete anonymity. No client knew the business of another. The   
young man withdrew a bright yellow belt from the bag and inspected   
it. He flipped open various pouches while Kittlemeier drummed his   
fingers on the counter top. The belt had a detachable gun holster   
and huge pockets that ran the length of it. The young man   
examined the gun, a nickel-plated .45 automatic carefully.  
  
"You've made the modifications I trust." The young man   
questioned.   
  
Kittlemeier sighed, "Of course I did. Besides standard   
bullets the gun can quickly speed load your non-lethal knock out   
darts as well as other specialized projectiles. It will function   
as I promised. In addition I made minor adjustments to the inset   
of the wench for your silken cord so that it will exert less wear   
on this part of the belt. I do hope you approve."  
  
"I shouldn't have doubted your skills Mister Kittlemeier."  
  
Kittlemeier's grunt was his only reply as he pulled out a   
cardboard box and added it to the items already laid out on the   
counter. The young man opened it and pulled out one of the items:   
a stylized boomerang in the shape of a bat. The man smiled his   
satisfaction and dug into the box once more, this time drawing   
several smaller bat shaped items from it.  
  
"Watch yourself when you examine those, they are razor   
sharp." Kittlemeier said in a cautionary tone.  
  
The young man balanced one of the tiny bats on his fingertip   
for a few seconds. "Very good work, my compliments." He placed   
three of them in his hand and made a wide sweep of his arm. The   
three black metal bats glinted as they flew through the room and   
lodged themselves into a wall over the older man's head.   
  
Kittlemeier didn't seem too affected by the young man's   
actions one way or the other. Quietly, he pulled out a small step   
stool and dug the bats out of the wall. "This will be added to   
your bill." The younger man nodded in agreement. Kittlemeier   
continued. "The grappling hook gun has been tested and the cable   
can hold up to three times your weight before stress starts to   
show. I've also included the mold specifications for the Bakelite   
armor as you asked. The prototype of the upper body armor is   
included as well. It's been field tested and can take several   
rounds of small weapons fire with only minor effects."  
  
"Minor effects?" the young man asked with a raised eyebrow.  
  
"You'll live, but you'll just feel like you were kicked by a   
mule." Kittlemeier replied with something that vaguely resembled a   
smile.  
  
"I see." The young man began to pack his purchases back into   
the box and bag. "I know your time is short Mister Kittlemeier   
and this is really exceptional work. I'm sure these will do for   
my purposes. After all I..."   
  
"I don't want to know what your plans are sir. Part of   
maintaining your privacy is not knowing what you will do with the   
merchandise once it leaves my shop." Kittlemeier said abruptly.   
"It's one of the reasons why I'm so successful in my work. I   
don't read the papers, or follow the news so that I remain   
ignorant as to who does what with my work. I may have an attack   
of conscience if I see it misused in some way, so I choose to give   
my clients a certain level of comfort by minding my business and   
leaving them to theirs." The old man walked over to the register   
and hit the "no sale" key. "I trust you have my fee?"  
  
"Right here, plus a retainer." The young man said   
withdrawing a wad of bills the height of a small head of lettuce.  
  
"A retainer? Well I suppose that pays for the wall."   
Kittlemeier said in a pleased tone as he counted the bills. "If   
that will be all sir, I really must prepare for my next client."  
  
"Then I'll be off Mister Kittlemeier." the young man said as   
he balanced the bag and box with one hand, as he used the free one   
to turn the rusted doorknob. "Thank you again."  
  
As he placed the bag and box in the trunk of his car, Bruce   
Wayne wondered if any of Kittlemeier's customers used his services   
for the same kind of ends he had in mind. Bruce dwelled on it for   
a few moments before sliding behind the wheel and driving off into   
the dark.   
  
Some six minutes passed before the shop was visited once   
more. A yellow checkered cab pulled up in front of the storefront   
and a man dressed completely in black stepped quickly from the cab   
into the shop. As he entered the grimy little shop, he pulled the   
brim of his slouch hat lower. The stone set in the gold ring he   
wore blazed a brilliant fire red in the gray surroundings. The   
bell had already announced Kittlemeier's new customer, and as the   
little man entered the room he carried a smooth mahogany box.   
Setting it on the counter Kittlemeier opened it to reveal two   
modified .45 automatics with slightly longer barrels than the guns   
normally had.  
  
As the awesome figure in black moved to examine the guns, he   
was stopped short by the old man's creaking voice.  
  
"You're late." Kittlemeier stated.  
  
"Unavoidable." replied the man in black. "Something came   
up." The peal of laughter that followed could be heard in every   
corner of the tiny shop. It was a laugh that could chill a man's   
soul to the very core.  
  
Kittlemeier however, seemed unaffected as he said the   
shadowy figure, "I hear that all too often. We need to hurry sir,   
my next client will be arriving in about twenty minutes and you   
know my rules."  
  
"I know." was the man in black's reply as he hefted one of   
the pistols.  
  
"You always do." Kittlemeier replied.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
FIVE: DEBATE AND DEBUT  
  
WAYNE MANOR, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 11, 1938...  
  
The final rays of the setting sun were fading away as night   
finally returned to Gotham. The time had finally come. Bruce   
Wayne stood in the study and stared at his long dead parents in   
the painting that hung over the mantle. He studied them with a   
grim resolve for what seemed like an eternity. Without a word,   
Bruce turned away and strolled over to the massive grandfather   
clock that stood against the wall opposite the mantle.   
  
Bruce stopped in front of the clock and stared once more.   
The clock in turn stared back at Bruce with its soft ticking as   
the only barrier between them. Bruce turned and looked for any   
sign that he may be acting prematurely, any omen to tell him that   
this wasn't the right time or place to begin his quest again. No   
sign seemed to be coming as the bookshelves stood their silent   
vigil and the moon shined quietly through the window that the bat   
had crashed through so many weeks ago. Nothing crashed through   
this time to stay his hand, so Bruce turned back to the clock and   
reached for the hands on the clock's face.  
  
"I see you intend to go ahead with this foolishness after   
all Master Bruce."  
  
Bruce turned to see the figure of Alfred standing in the   
doorway of the study. "Yes Alfred, I have to do this." Bruce   
turned back to the clock and set the face for nine oh four, the   
time his parents were pronounced dead by the police coroner,   
pulled one of the massive brass chains on the counterweights and   
stepped back. The clock slid noiselessly to the right revealing a   
darkened stairwell.  
  
"If you continue with this fool's crusade," Alfred said   
quietly, "you will do so without my help, sir."  
  
Bruce paused at the doorway but did not turn around. "You'd   
leave this place?" he asked. "You'd abandon me?"  
  
"Your mother and father were my friends as well as my   
employers Bruce. I have made it my mission in life to insure your   
safety, your happiness and well-being." Alfred began to cross the   
room, closing the gap between himself and Bruce. "I suppose I   
have myself to blame to some degree for the way you've turned out.   
I should have stopped this long ago, but I thought in the end that   
you would come to terms with their loss, move on with your life   
and make it count for something."  
  
"It will Alfred. I know now that this is the best way to   
make a difference."  
  
The older man shook his head. "I doubt that sir. All this   
will do is lead you to an early grave and I for one will not bury   
another friend lost to senseless violence and if I can't dissuade   
you from this course you've chosen, then it would be best for me   
to leave you to it."  
  
Bruce stepped through the doorway and started down the   
stairs. "Walk with me Alfred."  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"You're still pleading your case, old friend." Bruce said   
slowly. "The least I can do is plead mine." Alfred fell into   
step behind the younger man as they entered the stairwell. A row   
of dim lamps somberly lit the path the two men were taking. As   
Alfred cleared the doorway, Bruce touched a switch on the wall and   
the clock slid back into place.  
  
"Alfred, do you remember the first time I tried to go out   
there make a difference?" Bruce asked.  
  
"I should, sir, I distinctly remember stitching the wounds   
you acquired." Alfred replied with polite coldness. "For someone   
who dedicated so much effort and time into preparing for this   
endeavor, you were not all that successful. Unless of course you   
consider being carved like a Christmas goose by a petty thug some   
measure of success."  
  
Bruce nodded. "Exactly Alfred. I was stupid, I let emotion   
cloud my judgment. I dived into the fray overconfident and sure   
of my abilities."  
  
"Which is why I beg you sir to give up this idea. There are   
people who are paid to handle the ills of the city. It's not your   
responsibility."  
  
"What would you have me do Alfred, hide behind these walls,   
insulated by my wealth while the rest of the city goes to hell in   
a handbasket?" Bruce said with a smoldering glint in his eye.   
"The police are ineffective. Corruption, greed and politics keep   
them from eliminating the problems that Gotham has completely.   
The Green Lantern may be fine as far as the newspapers and radio   
are concerned, but at best he's more of a celebrity than a   
deterrent. He operates on a level that makes good copy but   
invariably keeps him from dealing with the real problems of this   
city too."   
  
Bruce and Alfred had reached the bottom of the stairs. The   
trail of lights ended at the point and in the semi darkness,   
Alfred could only make out a screen, which Bruce had stepped   
behind. Alfred could hear the rustling of clothing and assumed   
his employer was changing to something more appropriate for his   
planned activities.  
  
"I see, and your electing yourself a one man police force   
will solve those problems." Alfred said with a hint of sarcasm.   
"Master Bruce you can't honestly believe that you will become this   
city's White Knight on a charger and come to its' rescue all alone   
do you? Even King Arthur had the Knights of the Round Table to   
protect him in battle. You'll be all alone out there sir."  
  
"Not if you stay Alfred." Bruce answered from behind the   
screen. "You're right I have no business mixing into matters the   
police should be able to handle. I am probably putting my life at   
risk from the second I leave here until I return home, but I must   
do this despite those obvious facts."  
  
"To avenge your parents? They would not have approved of   
this you know." Alfred said solemnly. He hated using the Waynes   
memory in this fashion, but Alfred was desperate to keep Bruce   
from going into the night and facing the terrors that had already   
managed to hurt him before.  
  
"I guess we'll never know that for certain, will we?" Came   
Bruce's cold reply. "I'm not out for just vengeance anymore   
Alfred. I've trained myself all my life to take vengeance on the   
man that killed my parents and all of his kind. What I didn't   
consider was how big a problem this was for the people of this   
city beyond my crusade. Crime has a stranglehold on this city   
Alfred and no power ring or police badge is going to break it.  
  
I need you to remind me of how crazy this whole plan is, of   
how precious life is and even how incredibly ridiculous it is for   
one man to play the White Knight in this town. You are my   
conscience, old friend, you will keep this all in perspective for   
me.  
  
My father was a healer Alfred. He took other people's   
problems and made them his own. If a man were lying in a street   
dying and Dad were on his morning walk, I don't think he would've   
stepped over the man and continued on his way. This is no   
different, Gotham needs someone to defend her and I can't ignore   
that. This is more than avenging the deaths of my parents, I'm   
going to honor their memories by doing something for the common   
good of the city. I'm going to help the only way I know how."   
  
"Really sir," Alfred said incredulously, "you don't honestly   
expect me to believe that picking fights with armed hoods is   
considered the same as using medical skills to save a life?"   
Alfred shook his head sadly, "I'm afraid that you'll have to   
better than that to convince me, sir."  
  
Alfred heard Bruce sigh from behind the screen. "No Alfred,   
Dad trained for his career, he chose the path his life took. You   
were with him in the war, you know how many times he rushed into   
danger without a second thought just to save a wounded man. I'm   
doing the exact same thing, no one's looking out for the   
defenseless people caught in the middle, everyone wants to play it   
safe and no one seems to want to face evil in its' own element."  
  
Alfred saw movement from behind the screen. A tall figure   
emerged but its' features were swallowed up by the darkness   
surrounding Alfred. The older man squinted, trying to keep track   
of the movements of the figure but he had lost sight of it within   
seconds.   
  
A sudden click sounded and a new series of lights came on,   
allowing Alfred to see beyond the stairwell. The lamps revealed a   
huge cavern, smoothly paved, with several cars, motorcycles and a   
truck or two parked to Alfred's immediate left. Farther back was   
a small table with an array of wigs and make-up; materials   
valuable to disguising one's features and body shape. A turn to   
the right and Alfred saw rows of file cabinets some were standard   
office models, others looked like they could hold blueprints or   
large maps. Alfred's eyes traveled along the entirety of the cave   
taking in all of the things that had been set up without his   
knowledge. An extensive chemical laboratory with several shelves   
of texts relating to medical and chemical subjects from the   
mundane to the exotic, a wardrobe filled with various outfits that   
would allow a man to imitate any number of professions from a well   
dressed businessman to a common laborer, there was a table   
cluttered with electronics and wires, a small printing press, a   
number of short wave radio sets, a bank of telephones and much   
more that was lost in the hazy shadows of the background that the   
lights didn't penetrate. The butler was amazed with the variety   
of items that had been collected in this cave, and for a moment   
forgot his misgivings towards Bruce's decision to undertake his   
mission to save Gotham from itself.  
  
Alfred looked for Bruce but he was nowhere to be seen.   
"Master Bruce?! Master Bruce where are you?!" Alfred stared   
straight ahead toward a movement in the shadows. What emerged   
from the darkness was a sight that some only find in nightmares.   
  
A grim spectre, almost invisible against the shadows, strode   
into the light. For a moment, Alfred thought that some giant bat   
had landed on the floor from of the cave and adopted human form.   
Leathery wing-like points dragged across the floor, huge pointed   
ears jutted out from the shadow's head and as the light struck the   
awesome black thing, Alfred realized that this was not some   
fearsome monster from a bad dream, it was just a man.  
  
"Master Bruce?" Alfred asked the dread figure. "Sir, is   
that you?"  
  
There was no spoken response from the grim figure before   
Alfred, instead a powerful hand reached into the shadow of a face   
and pulled slightly, the cowl lifted up to reveal the smiling face   
of Bruce Wayne.  
  
"Were you afraid Alfred? Did I catch you off guard?"  
  
"Indeed you did sir." Alfred said with a flood of relief.   
With a sweep of his hand Alfred asked, "What is all of this?"  
  
"Preparation Alfred." Bruce said with a quiet reverence.   
"When I went out there a few months ago, I wasn't prepared to do   
anything but avenge my parents. I was prepared to even die in   
those streets in the attempt to exact that vengeance. I almost   
got that expectation on my first night out. After I realized that   
there had to be a better way of doing this, I realized that the   
only way I'd make criminals fear is to become a symbol of fear, a   
living symbol. When I leave this cave and go out there I intend   
to come back at the end of this night and many others."  
  
Bruce put a gloved hand on his butler's shoulder. "But   
you're right old friend, I can't do this alone. I'm going to need   
someone to monitor the radio broadcasts on the police and news   
bands, I need someone to support my efforts and make sure that I'm   
aware of all of the possible dangers that may come up. I need   
someone to be my eyes and ears when I'm unable to check on a   
situation personally. I need someone to be at my shoulder, even   
if it's only in spirit over a two-way radio. I need you Alfred   
for more than patching me up when things go wrong. You're my best   
hope of surviving the dangers that are out there."   
  
I won't stop you if you still want to leave," Bruce said as   
he turned towards the sleek black roadster that was in what Alfred   
assumed was the driveway to some hidden exit. "but without you, I   
don't stand a chance." Bruce opened at the driver's side door of   
the roadster. "Will you help me Alfred?"  
  
Alfred considered his young friend and employer for a   
moment. A decision was made quickly as Alfred said, "Under three   
conditions Master Bruce; I expect the scope of my new duties to be   
reflected on my next paycheck, I refuse to wear tights and a mask   
for any reason whatsoever and that you do your best to return home   
in pretty much the same fashion that you left. I am willing to   
accept 'alive and breathing' over 'alive and well' if you have   
trouble with the third condition sir." Alfred's face was the   
proper mask of British civility, if he had the urge to grin, he   
held it in check beautifully.  
  
Bruce Wayne smiled openly at the older man. "We'll have to   
talk about the mask and tights part later Alfred, I've got to go."   
Bruce pulled the cowl back into place and slid into the car. "I   
know Gotham needs a few more White Knights, Alfred, but I hope for   
now that she'll be satisfied with a dark one."  
  
As the small black car roared off into the night Alfred   
looked around the cave once more and said to no one in particular,   
"Another bloody room that will need dusting."  
  
*****************************************************  
  
INTERLUDE  
  
PARK RIDGE, OUTSIDE OF GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 11, 1938  
  
The suburbs of Gotham have always been considered sedate by   
her many residents, Park Ridge was no different. This is a place   
where people could raise their families without all of the   
pressures of city living. People felt secure here, safe, far   
removed from the shadowy criminals that roamed the streets of   
Gotham City.  
  
Which is why Anthony "Fat Tony" Zucco moved here in the   
first place. It was one thing to deal with being a criminal   
involved with Gotham's underworld, but he sure as hell wasn't   
going to raise his kids around the mugs he employed. Lately   
Zucco's family had not occupied this home, Tony had them moved out   
when Maroni exiled the mobster from Gotham. This place served as   
Zucco's base of operations for the time being, but he planned to   
return to Gotham soon enough. And when he did, Zucco was going to   
be the top guy, even if it meant war with Boss Maroni.  
  
Zucco was a smooth looking character, he dressed well, kept   
himself fairly well groomed, but his girth clearly showed why he   
earned the nickname "Fat Tony". To say Zucco was heavyset would   
be an understatement along the same lines as saying Niagara Falls   
is simply a lot of running water. Zucco lived to excess and it   
showed in his pudgy hands and chubby face. It was evident in his   
labored breathing when he got excited or exerted too much physical   
effort. But in his prime, Zucco was one of the most fearsome   
legbreakers to work for the Maroni mob, it was his past brutality   
that built his reputation and carried it to this day. Unlike the   
Boss Maroni, Zucco fancied himself a gentleman and despite his   
best efforts he still looked like a thick lipped thug trying to   
appear respectable.   
  
The Zucco gang had gathered for a council of war. The   
attempt on two of Gordon's men had failed and sooner or later   
someone would steer the detective in Zucco's direction so Fat Tony   
had called his top men together to decide what to do next. Beside   
Zucco was his new number one boy, Theo "Gat" Benson.   
  
Benson was a swarthy man with wolf-like features. He had a   
fondness for carrying a pair of guns in a shoulder holster as well   
as one in the waistband of his trousers, and a small pistol in an   
ankle holster which earned him his rather obvious nickname.   
Benson was as big as Zucco but he was a solid, husky man who was   
fully capable of delivering pain and death with or without his   
weapons. Despite Benson's obvious physical superiority there was   
no doubt at all that Zucco called the shots and had his loyalty.  
  
"All right you mugs," Zucco said to stop all of the chatter   
in the room, "let's get down to cases. I set up a simple gunning   
job and because some broad was on the scene, two of the trigger   
boys are in the hoosegow."  
  
"We didn't know Drake's kid would be there Mister Zucco.   
And we really didn't know she could fight!" replied Jimmy "the   
Squirrel" Fusco, one of the key men to set up the ambush at the   
old Monarch theatre. The Squirrel also bore an accurate   
appellation with his nervous, fidgety bearing; reddish brown hair,   
slightly bucked teeth and jowly face. The Squirrel's fidgeting   
was even more pronounced than usual with Zucco's dissatisfaction   
at the outcome of recent events.  
  
"Yeah boss," Billy "the Fish" Manetti chimed in, "we were   
ready for more of Gordon's boys like Corrigan, Harris, Bullock,   
O'Hara or one of the other coppers on the squad. We didn't even   
know the dame was Drake's little girl until it hit the papers this   
morning." Billy was a man with a perpetual sad expression, his   
face was one of drooping lips and sorrowful eyes which sometimes   
gave one the impression of a fish out of water gasping for air.   
When he became excited over some matter, the fish like effect was   
amplified by his own shortness of breath from asthma, an   
affliction he had carried with him from birth.  
  
Zucco shook his head negating the two thugs' protests. "Nix   
on that! You trouble boys told me you could handle this job. If   
I'd known a twist could've put down your choppers, I would have   
given the hit to a bindle punk! Hell if I had dug up a greaser, a   
snowbird or a bindle punk the job might've only cost me two bits   
to pull it off."  
  
"Don't be sore boss," Gat Benson leaned in over the table,   
putting himself between the mob leader and the two gangsters. "the   
way I figure it things are about to come up roses."  
  
"Whaddya mean Gat?" gasped the Fish.  
  
"Yeah," Zucco added, "give Gat, what's the big magilla? It   
ain't about the two boys over in the clink is it?"  
  
"Naw Tony," replied Benson confidently, "those guys won't   
spill, they got enough spinach for that gunning job that they'll   
be glad to take the fall. Besides our shyster's already ribbed up   
a loophole to get our boys out of the can so we don't have to   
worry there. What I've got is something better, something that's   
gonna give us Gordon's boys on a silver platter."  
  
"You been snortin' a snootful of giggle juice Gat?" inquired   
Nicky "the Nose" Bartelli, so named because of the solid steel   
prosthesis planted in the middle of his face by an upset rival in   
the local drug trade. "Nobody can get to Gordon's boys, they'll   
be on the look out for any droppers. Even if we get out-of-  
towners, Gordon's bulls will tumble on the whole set up and send   
our boys over."  
  
"Gordon's boys are going to be duck soup," Benson snarled   
with contempt, "I've got a way to settle with Gordon and his boys   
once and for all."  
  
"Sounds like you're working a Chinese angle, Gat." Zucco   
said. "What do you have that's going to make Gordon play ball?"  
  
"Well nothing on Gordon," Benson replied, "but one of his   
boys is my new ringer!"  
  
Everyone in the room stared at Benson. Some wore an   
expression of definite shock while others looked at the gangster   
in disbelief.  
  
"How'd you pull that off?" The Nose didn't try to hide his   
skeptcism.  
  
"Pretty simple bo, this guy knows that we're on the rise and   
that eventually Gordon and his squad are going to be removed. He   
don't want to find himself wearing a Chicago Overcoat so he   
decided to join the winning team."  
  
"You sure this ain't a bluff Gat? I mean this guy could be   
giving us the what for planning to do a bust up for Gordon, how do   
we know if he's on the level?" The Squirrel's comment bought   
agreeing nods from some of the others in the room.  
  
Gat straightened up and smile evilly at the assembled   
mobsters, "By arranging a hit on a couple of Gordon's boys based   
on my guys information." Benson turned to Zucco, "Boss, I want to   
order two hits to see if this guy checks out. If we do the job   
and make a clean sneak, he's okay. If we get pinched, we kill the   
plant."  
  
Zucco considered the proposition a moment before smiling.   
"Okay Gat we'll try your boy out, but if this is going to be a   
real test I want you to set up the jobs and do one of the hits.   
You'll make sure that at least one guy winds up dead and if you   
get caught I expect you to kill your finger man when I bail you   
out."  
  
"Fine." Benson answered, "In that case I know who I want to   
do up close and personal and two phone calls will set it all in   
motion."  
  
"Well then Gat, you better get on the blower, I want this   
done tonight. And by the way, who gets it?" Zucco asked.  
  
"Well Drake has to be hit after what his little girl did.   
If we don't burn him folks will think we've gone soft. The other   
mug is mine. He got lucky once and sent me to stir for five years   
and I owe him for that. I'll be glad to send him off to a dirt   
nap."  
  
"Chee, Gat," Nicky the Nose whistled, "you really have the   
curse on this guy! Who is he?"  
  
"His name is Corrigan, Nicky." Benson responded hatefully,   
"Jim Corrigan."  
  
"Fine Gat, if you want to make the second hit personal, so   
much the better." Zucco said enthusiastically, "I know you'll be   
creative when you take your shot. Bumping a cop when you're   
feeling creative will make enough waves to let Gordon know it   
would be in his best interest to back off."   
  
Zucco smiled with satisfaction as he changed the subject.   
"Okay boys, once we hit Gordon's squad we need to attend to some   
of the deadbeats who ain't made good on their debts to us,   
starting with Joe Haly. You know the guy who owns that flea   
bitten carny he calls a circus."  
  
"Hey!" The Squirrel said suddenly, "Gat you never told us   
who turned squealer on Gordon's team!"  
  
"You know something?" Gat replied pleasantly, "You're   
right. Wait 'til you hear the fella's name is..."  
  
And for the second time in the evening, the entire Zucco mob   
stared at Gat Benson with total disbelief on their collective   
faces.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
SIX: TICK, TICK, BANG, BANG...  
  
ADAMS HEIGHTS, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 11, 1938...  
  
The Batman had been making the rounds in Gotham tonight. A   
covert trip to the Penguin Club turned up no fresh clues towards   
pinning down Zucco's involvement with the Penguin, if any.   
Satisfied that Cobblepot wasn't directly involved in the attempt   
on the two detectives, Batman began to tour the underworld.   
  
Using his talent for disguise, the Batman moved freely in   
criminal haunts where Zucco's men worked and played. One   
particular gangster had gotten the Batman's interest with glib,   
coy comments about Gordon's boys "finally getting theirs". The   
half drunk little crook was ignored by most of the bar's patrons   
who were more interested in drowning their cares than listening to   
some loudmouth.   
  
The Batman befriended the little man and over the course of   
ten minutes learned that Richard Drake was to be the target of   
another murder attempt. The little man didn't know enough details   
though, he was a minor player in the Zucco mob and wasn't privy to   
much of the information that the mob boss and his inner circle   
discussed. Making up a pretext to leave the little thug some ten   
minutes later along with buying the crook a full bottle of rye,   
the Batman made a quick exit to find and protect Richard Drake.  
  
The Batman made several calls from a nearby phone booth.   
One as Bruce Wayne to Gordon making a casual inquiry into the   
progress of the case. During this conversation Batman secured the   
location of Drake, who had taken the night off and stayed at home.   
With that information in hand Batman's next call was to Alfred to   
have him search for Drake's home address and phone number. Alfred   
said he would to report in to the Batman over the car radio when   
the information was found. The Batman placed a second call to the   
police department this time Batman, disguising his voice, played   
the role of an anonymous tipster and reported that there be a   
possible attempt on Drake's life. Once those calls were made,   
Batman headed to his car, stripping away the greasepaint, the   
false nose and fake whiskers he had worn to conceal his identity.  
  
In the car Batman donned the costume, cape and cowl once   
more. If trouble started to brew, Batman wanted Zucco to know   
that a fearless creature of the night was after him. Alfred was   
only able to turn up Drake's address, his phone number wasn't   
listed, but he was still checking. The Drakes lived only a few   
minutes away from Batman's current location. As the Batman's car   
sped off into the foggy night, he hoped it wasn't too late.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
Richard Drake had gotten the call a few minutes ago. One of   
the boys had reported that Zucco was making a major drug shipment   
into Gotham tonight. Even though Drake had taken the night off,   
the call made it seem imperative that he make the party for the   
bust. Drake, not being one to miss a good party, grabbed his hat   
and stuffed himself into a jacket minutes after he hung up the   
phone.  
  
"Don't wait up little bird," Drake said as he bounded for   
the door. "police business!"  
  
Dinah Drake was in silk men pajamas and a robe. Until her   
father's rush for the door, she had been reading quietly. His   
outburst had her up from the chair and rushing to her bedroom.   
"Wait up Dad, I'm coming with you!"  
  
"No time kid, Zucco's making a move and we're going to get   
him. I've got to get going."  
  
Dinah stuck her head out of the door, her black hair already   
tucked into a cap and a bare shoulder edging out from behind the   
frame. "Dad you may need me, and how else am I supposed to get   
into the force if I don't prove I can handle the heat?"  
  
"Personally I think you just want to see Larry again. I   
think he's sweet on you little bird." Lance said with a slight   
smile as he looked around for the car keys. "I thought the keys   
were on the hook by the door!"  
  
"Check the kitchen Dad!" Dinah shouted with a slight grunt.   
"The rookie's sweet on me? I just think he's sweet on himself.   
Besides wasn't one of the first things you taught me was to never   
date a cop?"  
  
"Well rules were made to be broken kid. Larry's a right guy,   
you should give him a chance." Drake snatched the keys off of the   
kitchen counter and snatched his nearly forgotten gun off the   
kitchen table.  
  
"Oh Dad, I can do better than the rookie, he mouths off too   
much."  
  
Lance stopped in mid step at Dinah's remark. "Better?   
Better like who?"  
  
"No one Daddy!" came Dinah's terse reply. "I wasn't   
thinking of anyone in particular."  
  
"Don't lie to your poppa kid, I know you too well." Drake's   
brow clouded in thought for a second and then brightened. "I've   
got it! You're sweet on Bruce Wayne! It didn't click until just   
now. You've had a crush on him since you were a kid!"  
  
"DAD!" squealed Dinah, "I didn't mention Bruce at all!"  
  
Drake knew he had hit the mark and smiled another rocky   
smile. "Yeah besides, he is engaged to that girl he met in New   
York, Julie Madison, so I'm pretty sure he's off limits."  
  
"He hasn't been seen with Julie for months!" Dinah   
grumbled. Louder she said, "I'm almost ready Dad, just let me   
button up my blouse."  
  
"Well shake a leg little bird, I'm going! I'll wait for you   
as long as it takes for the car to warm up, then you're either in   
or out for keeps!" Dinah didn't have a chance to protest as the   
door slammed.  
  
A few seconds later she rushed out of her bedroom fully   
dressed in a pair of tweed slacks, gray blouse and a tweed bolero   
jacket. As she rushed for the door she saw her father had   
forgotten his wallet and as she flipped it open, she knew Drake   
had left his badge in it as well. "He'd lose his head if I   
weren't around." she said with a slight smile.  
  
As her hand touched the doorknob, the phone began to ring.   
Dinah sprung back to the phone before the second ring and quickly   
snatched up the phone. "Drake residence." she said quickly,   
hoping that this wasn't going to be a long call.  
  
The voice on the other end was one of Richard Drake's oldest   
and dearest friends, Arthur O'Hara. "Dinah, where's yuir poppa?"   
The thick Irish bass of O'Hara's had a hint of fear in it.  
  
"We're about to join up with the boys for the raid on   
Zucco's, Uncle Arthur. Has the plan changed?"  
  
"Raid?" was O'Hara's confused reply. The fear in his voice   
went up a notch when he spoke again. "Saint's preserve us!   
Child, there's no raid planned at all, someone's put the word out   
on your father. We got a call a few minutes ago saying that there   
was going to be another hit on him!"  
  
Dinah's face went deathly white. "Well he's headed to the   
car now."  
  
"Quickly child, stop him from leaving and keep him in the   
house! Some of the boys and Jimmy Gordon himself are on the way!   
Until then sit tight and keep him off the streets!"   
  
"I'm on my way Uncle Arthur, tell the boys to hurry!"   
  
Dinah slammed the phone back into the receiver and spun for   
the door. As she wrenched it open she was stopped short by what   
was on the other side. A huge figure in black and gray stood   
before her. A pair of cool blue eyes stared from behind the slits   
of a mask with pointed ears. From the way he stood, Dinah knew he   
was prepared for any provocative action so she stood her own   
ground and waited for him to make the first move.  
  
"Miss Drake, is your father home?"  
  
"The underworld's hitmen sure do dress funny." She   
answered. "Your belt clashes with the outfit."  
  
"I'll talk to my tailor later." the shadowy figure replied.   
"Miss Drake, I'm here to protect your father, he's in grave   
danger. I came in through the back way to make sure the place   
wasn't being watched. I have a car out back and I'd like to get   
you and your dad to a safe place."  
  
Dinah studied the man in black and decided to take a chance   
as she pushed past him. "Then follow me masked man, he's headed   
for the car."  
  
The pair sped down the seven flights of stairs quickly,   
making the lobby of the building in short order. There the masked   
man stopped and said to Dinah, "Go to the car, get your father and   
get him back here. I'll wait for you both here."   
  
Dinah's doubts had returned as the masked man spoke the   
order. "Wait a second fella, why don't you want to go out there?"  
  
"You said it yourself Dinah, the belt clashes with the   
outfit." The masked man produced a gun from the folds of his   
cape. "I can also cover you best from here if there are any   
gunners waiting to get your dad. I know this is not a normal   
situation, but you're going to have to trust me Miss Drake. Now,   
get going!" With a nod, Dinah tore out of the door.  
  
Dinah had just exited the building and started running for   
the car. Dinah was thrilled to see that her dad was sitting   
behind the wheel, reading the paper. He looked up at her and   
waved and smiled before folding the paper and throwing it in the   
backseat. Dinah was still too far away to yell to him but she   
could hear the car's engine starting up with a slight grumble.   
Richard Drake looked a little confused as he listened to the   
engine and then Dinah saw him reach for the door handle with a   
look of horror on his face.  
  
That was the last thing Dinah saw before the car erupted   
into a blazing ball of fire as the engine exploded.  
  
*****************************  
  
To be continued...  



	3. Gotham Knights: Preparations, Part Three

  
The author acknowledges that names, concepts, and images of   
many characters that may be used here and ALL related characters   
may be owned by other individuals and/or companies and that said   
owners retain complete rights to said characters. These concepts   
are used WITHOUT permission for NO PROFIT, but rather a strong   
desire to peer into the potential these characters have in a   
combined setting.  
  
This also acknowledges that original concepts presented here   
are the intellectual property of the author.  
  
*****************************************************  
GOTHAM KNIGHTS  
  
Preparations, Part 3  
  
Written by -- Ali  
Email -- SEricAli1@aol.com  
  
Edited by: Jason Tippitt & Tommy Hancock  
*****************************************************  
  
INTERLUDE  
  
PIER 47, GOTHAM BAY, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 11, 1938...  
  
He stared at the hand for a long time. It moved slightly,   
bobbing as if it had a life of its' own, keeping time to the   
rhythm of the ocean waves. He watched it, trying to remember why   
this all seemed so familiar but it was already a fading wisp of   
memory, no more than a dream that vanishes with first fingertips   
of dawn.  
  
He knew there was something odd about the whole situation,   
something he couldn't place his finger on exactly, but   
instinctively he knew the whole thing wasn't what one would   
consider normal. He reflected upon the scene and regarded it as   
curious. He stood on the dark sand, heard the roar of the ocean   
in his ears and stared into the dark blue expanse around him. As   
the man continued to stare at and dwell upon the hand, he finally   
realized what was so out of place here. He was not supposed to be   
standing here staring at the hand that protruded from the barrel,   
after all the hand was his own and by all rights he should be   
attached to it by being inside the barrel itself.   
  
He approached the barrel and reached over to remove the lid.   
Just as his fingers were about to touch the surface of the wooden   
lid he stopped. He had already observed the nailed top of the   
barrel and the hard gray substance that could only be quick   
setting cement, and he knew the only thing left within would be a   
corpse. As Jim Corrigan came to that conclusion, the idea of   
standing beneath the waters Gotham Bay made sense.  
  
Like a shot, a memory came to him. A face Corrigan didn't   
see, but nonetheless knew all too well appeared in the hazy   
landscape of his mind. The flowing brunette hair, the sparkling   
brown eyes, the rose petal soft lips all rushed to the fore front   
of Jim Corrigan's memory and with sudden abruptness his mind was   
clear and he spoke one word:  
  
"Clarice..."  
  
And with that one word came a rush of memory.   
  
Clarice was Corrigan's fiancŽ. Tonight was to be the   
official announcement of their engagement and they had chosen to   
walk to the country club that Clarice's father had reserved for   
the engagement party. Corrigan remembered how the romantic walk   
was interrupted by an ambush from four vicious gangsters, the   
violent beating that followed rendered him senseless. Corrigan   
awoke to find himself face-to-face an old adversary, Gat Benson.   
Clarice was tied in a chair opposite his own and her scared   
expression brought a wave of fear to Corrigan's own heart, he'd   
always managed to keep his life as a cop away from the life he and   
Clarice shared, he sure as hell didn't want her to fall victim to   
a revenge plot meant for him alone. Benson paraded around the   
room taunting Corrigan, promising a slow torture and bloody end   
for the red headed detective. It wasn't until Benson stroked   
Clarice's neck and ran his finger from her throat to her cleavage   
with a wolfish, lustful grin that Corrigan acted.  
  
Corrigan had been testing the strength of his bonds and   
realized that the chair itself was fairly weak. With some effort,   
he managed to break free of the rickety, rotting wooden chair;   
ropes slid away from his limbs and fell to the floor. Snatching   
up part of the chair frame, Corrigan smashed one of Benson's hired   
guns savagely across the face. As the man's head snapped around   
from the blow, Corrigan felt as if he had exacted some measure of   
payment for the beating received earlier. Corrigan whirled about   
and landed a solid blow on a second gangster before the man could   
draw a bead on him with his pistol. Corrigan felt a wave of   
satisfaction pass through him as he heard the howl of pain that   
erupted from the man as he fell to the floor. Corrigan's   
instincts as a cop and a street fighter saved him from having his   
skull smashed in by a flailing blackjack that cruised over his   
left ear as he ducked low. While crouched the fearsome detective   
snapped off a hearty kick to sappper's groin that yielded another   
satisfying yowl of pain for Corrigan's efforts, albeit in a   
slightly higher octave than the one the crook normally used.  
  
Corrigan was allowing himself a moment of self   
congratulation when he heard the click of a gun breach and found   
himself staring into the smug face of Gat Benson. Benson could   
afford a certain level of smugness, he held a revolver on Corrigan   
and another on the unconscious form of Clarice who had fainted   
during the fight and remained helplessly tied to her chair.   
  
"I just wanted you to think you were going to win hard guy."   
Benson said with triumphant glee. He pushed back a lock of   
Clarice's hair with the tip of the revolver in his left hand. "I   
just wanted you to think you had a chance to save this pretty   
pigeon before I dust you."  
  
"If you harm her Benson, if you even touch her, I'll get   
you." Corrigan hissed through clenched teeth. "Even if I have to   
come back from the grave to do it, I WILL get you." Corrigan knew   
it was an empty threat, Benson had him dead to rights and there   
was no way the cop could cross the distance between them before he   
was brought down by the thug's bullets.   
  
Benson knew that Corrigan couldn't make it either, he smiled   
calmly at the detective and knelt closer to Clarice, keeping his   
gun level on enraged cop's heart. "Sure you will tough guy. But   
right now you're too far away to do nothing but watch." Benson   
put the second gun on the floor and reached slowly for the   
helpless girl's blouse. "And if you stay put Jimmy, I'll show you   
how a real man should treat goods like this."  
  
Corrigan didn't even think. Blind rage and frustration had   
him leaping across the room uttering a horrible cry. Benson was   
unaffected as he smiled and took careful aim. "Fine hard guy, you   
die quick instead of slow." Benson snapped off six shots, each   
one tearing into Corrigan's chest and stomach. Corrigan fell to   
the floor with a wet thud but he wasn't quite dead. Benson knelt   
over the dying man's prone form. "How's that feel hard guy? Was   
she worth those bullets in your gut? I hope so because I want you   
to die knowing that she and I are going to get REAL cozy. I'm   
going to do things to her you wouldn't believe Jimmy, and I'm   
going to keep on doing them until she gets to like it! Might even   
share her with the boys when they come to, after all they should   
get a bonus for bringing her to me in the first place. I want   
that to be your last thought Jimmy boy, I want you to think of the   
most horrible stuff a guy can do to a dame and then multiply that   
by five. You won't be able to do a damn thing about it, unless   
you really plan to come back from the dead like you promised." he   
leaned in even closer to Corrigan's face and hissed, "Whaddya   
think about that Jimmy?"  
  
Benson's answer came in the form a heavy sock to the jaw, as   
Corrigan's strength finally ebbed.  
  
"Still a hard guy to the end." Benson was almost solemn as   
he rubbed his jaw and stood over the cop. "No last words to   
remember you by? Nothing else from the soon to be late Jim   
Corrigan?"  
  
"Go to hell..." Corrigan spat between ragged gasps.  
  
Benson had taken time to reload his revolver and emptied the   
gun into Corrigan's body. The smell of gunpowder hung heavy in   
the room and the form stopped moving. "You go first." Benson   
sneered.  
  
The next thing Corrigan knew he was standing at the bottom   
of Gotham Bay staring at his own hand protruding from a barrel   
full of cement.   
  
"I'm dead?" Corrigan said to no one in particular. A   
slender fish swam towards Corrigan as if in response to his query.   
It came at him, eye level, swimming along rapidly and totally   
oblivious to the detective's presence at all. Corrigan braced   
himself, sure that this was all some kind of very odd dream when   
the fish - -   
  
The fish swam right through him!   
  
Suddenly a bright column of light and sudden sense of peace   
enveloped the still confused detective and everything that   
Corrigan had experienced seemed to melt away. When the light   
faded, the figure no longer stood before the barrel that slowly   
sank into the sandy seabed, he had disappeared completely.   
Whatever it was Jim Corrigan had become, he had begun a journey   
that would lead him to his destiny.  
  
And the hand continued to float below the waves unnoticed...   
  
*****************************************************  
  
SEVEN: AFTERSHOCKS  
  
ADAMS HEIGHTS, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 19, 1938, DUSK...  
  
She sat there alone in an apartment that was all too quiet   
now. Over a week ago Dinah Drake was in this same room, talking   
and laughing with her father; not thinking for a moment that it   
would be the last time that they would be together. Many of   
Richard Drake's friends and colleagues had come to pay their   
respects, all of them saying if she needed anything at all to call   
upon them.  
  
She needed her father back, and she didn't know anyone who   
could deliver that particular wish.   
  
On that first night after her father died, the mysterious   
man in the mask and cape paid her a visit and asked her questions   
about the phone call that came to her home, what cases her father   
had been working on and then he promised to avenge Richard Drake's   
death and bring in the people responsible for killing him. At   
that time Dinah didn't care. She was numb, still in shock over   
her loss gave less than a damn what anyone was promising her.   
  
What the masked man said next caught Dinah completely off   
guard.  
  
"I know what it's like to lose somebody that close Miss   
Drake. It's half the reason I wear the mask and do what I do.   
Don't let anger and memory consume you Miss Drake, mourn your   
father and then do your best to honor his memory by living your   
life to the fullest."  
  
She was still seeing the man in black through tear-stained   
eyes, but she saw something familiar in the earnestness of his   
manner. It was something she couldn't quite place, but she took it   
as a response to this man's concern for her well being. Dinah   
asked, "Why are you telling me all of this?"  
  
Dinah saw the dark figure's shoulders droop a little beneath   
his inky cloak and she heard a quiet sigh before he answered. "I   
know what it's like to have your life ruled by one thought, one   
wish, one need for closure and justice. I don't want you to go   
through the darkness that I have in order to know what I've   
learned. Life is far more precious than vengeance Miss Drake,   
never forget that."  
  
Dinah remembered her father saying the same thing, but for   
all of his belief in life and the law, Richard Drake still wound   
up dead; killed by some faceless coward who had no regard for the   
life that her father or the man in black held so dear. Maybe   
vengeance wasn't the best way to bring an end to this pain in her   
heart, but right now it was the only demand her heart had left and   
she decided that her life could not move on until she satisfied   
that demand. If the masked man's presence had done anything for   
Dinah, it helped her decide what form her revenge should take.  
  
She fixed the velvety black mask over her eyes and covered   
her dark tresses under a blonde wig. She rose from her chair and   
walked over to the full length mirror on the closet door. The   
woman who looked back at Dinah from the mirror was a stranger who   
radiated the proper air of mystery and seduction. She was clothed   
in a dark blue bolero jacket, a black silk choker on her neck,   
Even without the mask, Dinah doubted that anyone she knew would   
realize her true identity on a cursory glance. Staring at the   
fish net stockings that sheathed her shapely legs and the belted   
blue silk leotard she wore, Dinah was fairly certain little   
attention would be given to her face in the first place. Black   
leather gloves were pulled over slender hands and short heeled   
blue pirate boots completed the outfit.   
  
Dinah Drake smiled proudly at her new alter ego's   
reflection. Dinah knew her father would have a fit if he could   
see her dressed like this right now. The thought brought back all   
of the painful memories of her loss and her face became a mask of   
stone cold grimness. "I'll get them Daddy, and I'll make them pay   
for what they've done." Dinah headed to the hallway and after   
making sure the hall was clear, she made her way to the fire   
escape. In the alley below was her father's old motorcycle   
gassed, oiled and ready to ride. As she straddled the motorbike,   
Dinah Drake wondered if she would cross the path of the mysterious   
man in black once more. Would he work with her or against her?   
It didn't matter, Dinah thought to herself, she was going to have   
her revenge and heaven help the person who got in her way.  
  
Dinah let all of those thoughts go as the motorcycle roared   
to life and she took off into the night. Dinah thought back to   
the one possible lead she had, the phone call that her father had   
gotten. He mentioned a raid on Fat Tony Zucco, so Dinah had one   
of two avenues immediately open to her, either the killer who set   
up her father was employed by Zucco or he worked for Zucco's chief   
rival, Boss Maroni. Dinah decided to gamble on it being Zucco   
who was known by the officers serving on the police force for   
pulling such antics than the more subtle Maroni. Even armed with   
this bit of insight didn't help Dinah too much, she still had to   
find some kind of proof, which meant she had to find the bomber.   
  
Thanks to walking the beat with her father over the years,   
she already had an idea as to where she should start her search.  
  
****************  
  
The patrons of Murray's Bar and Grill were an unsavory lot.   
Many of the underworld's hired guns and established muscle kept   
the place profitable by serving as something more than the central   
watering hole, but it was also a place prepared for some of the   
hazards that came with the clientele. The building had two inch   
thick steel covered beneath a sheath of cheap plywood. Though the   
windows were barred, there were "safety latches" that flipped free   
quickly in case of an unexpected police raid. In the cellar there   
was a short hidden passage that allowed a man a quick run to a   
nearby utility tunnel. From that tunnel was an access ladder that   
ended in a safe house near a generally crowded, busy subway   
station. Even if a felon were being chased, he'd find some   
measure of safety by quickly losing himself in the crowd. An   
overhead skylight had no ladders or easy entry into the bar   
without some kind of rope, but if a raiding team came crashing in,   
they'd probably be dead by the time they hit the floor with the   
amount of heat Murray's customers carried as a general rule.  
  
As such, the men and women who frequented Murray's grew   
comfortable with the somewhat elaborate measures. In was a known   
fact that the police had yet to stage an effective raid on the   
place and capture their intended quarry. So no one was expecting   
anything out of the ordinary to happen in this, their safe haven.  
  
The evening was like many others at the popular underworld   
hangout, liquor flowed freely and the music was loud and hot. Men   
trying to prove that they were bigger and better than the other   
men in the room played games of cards or threw darts, some betting   
their entire bankrolls at times on the luck of the draw or a roll   
of the dice.   
  
Overpainted women with dead eyes danced with half drunk   
thugs for a dime and for those with even more lettuce to plant,   
the women provided services far more intimate in heavily perfumed,   
dimly lit rooms with well oiled bedsprings. Murray himself   
watched over the whole scene and calculated his profits for the   
evening. Somewhere in the back of his head Murray also subtracted   
the protection money he paid out to the Maroni Family and Fat Tony   
Zucco's boys and was still left with a pretty tidy sum. Adding   
the girls to his operation was really starting to pay off, and   
doing his bookkeeping in his head left no paper trail for the cops   
or the mobs.   
  
Murray was beginning to show his prosperity in his fancy new   
clothes and expensive jewelry. His establishment's quick exits   
also elevated his status with his clientele's bosses to such a   
degree that they were thinking of bankrolling Murray to set up   
places like his bar all over Gotham. Murray knew once he set up   
his chain of shops, he could write his own ticket onto the gravy   
train. he was a proven commodity to Gotham's underworld and he   
was about to reap all of the benefits of what he had sown for the   
last fifteen years.  
  
The evening took a sudden and unexpected turn for the worse   
when the lights went out. A crash of glass overhead had all eyes   
snapping upwards, guns were out and at the ready for whatever   
followed. Unfortunately for the triggermen in the crowd the only   
thing that followed were six small capsules. Everyone watched as   
the capsules hit some of the chips on the poker table that Eel   
O'Brien and his boys had been using for their game. A small cough   
came from the capsules as they struck the plastic chips and the   
room quickly filled with a thick gray smoke.   
  
Shouts of confusion filled the room, several guns fired   
blindly into the air and into the crowd. In the darkness and   
smoke, fear began to take hold of the assembled criminals and it   
squeezed heartily at their collective hearts. The lights suddenly   
returned to life and revealed in the center of the room fear   
manifested in a physical form. Shrouded in a black cape and cowl   
he was an impressive figure. To many in the room he was   
considered a myth, some bit of fiction made up to distract the   
criminal population of Gotham. To others he had to be something   
superhuman to have made such a swift impact on the criminal   
classes, still others assumed that there was a small army of men   
who wore the same costume and fought the seemingly unceasing   
battle against crime. No matter what these hardened thugs   
thought, they all knew who stood before them.  
  
"It's the Batman!"  
  
The masked man seemed to move in slow motion through the   
crowded room of thugs. In comparison, his opponents were   
lightning quick as they reached for their guns, knives and   
blackjacks. Bullets flew, knives flashed and blackjacks whistled   
through the air, all with the intention of striking down the man   
in black, but somehow the Batman managed to avoid every weapon   
marshaled against him with almost casual grace. A gloved fist   
smashed into one man's face, another man crumpled to the floor   
screaming in agony as he clutched a clearly broken wrist that once   
held a knife. With a wide sweep of his arm, the Batman let   
several black metal bat shaped blades fly. Some of the tiny bats   
embedded themselves deep into the shooting arms of some of the   
assembled criminals, others lodged themselves into gun barrels or   
bit the tops of fleshy hands that held knives, sticks and   
blackjacks. Men who were so hardened that they could kill as   
easily as cross the street, whimpered like babies in the face of   
the silent masked man's attack.  
  
Realizing how unstoppable the cloaked vigilante appeared to   
be, many of the criminals quit the field of battle and ran for   
doors and windows that lead out of the dive. The fear factor   
increased a notch as they realized that the windows and doors were   
sealed off everywhere. The door to the cellar, the back door, the   
barred windows with the special latches that allowed these felons   
to make a quick exit at the first sign of the law; none of them   
would yield, none offered a much needed escape from the Batman.   
At first, disbelief spread like a cold breeze among the crowd and   
then more guns, more knives, and more sweat appeared around the   
room as the criminals realized the only way out of their current   
predicament was through a force of nature in a flowing black cape.   
  
One huge brute, looking much braver than he felt, shouted   
out at the Batman, "Are you nuts? There's no way you can take us   
all on now that you're trapped in here with us!" The gathered   
crooks began to realize that they had numbers over the Batman, an   
advantage that brought new hope to their desperate situation.   
Murmurs of agreement began to trickle through the crowd like the   
waters of a babbling brook and within moments, the group surged   
forward, eager to bring down the Dark Knight.  
  
"Yeah!"   
  
"Get him!"  
  
"He can't stop us all!"  
  
"He's trapped in here with us!"  
  
The four men who were closest to the costumed crimebuster   
were tough customers, rough hands and huge muscles used to   
snapping bones and busting skulls rushed towards the Batman, ready   
to do their worst. The other thugs cheered them on, anticipating   
the carnage to come.   
  
The Batman stood at the door, rigid and unmoving. To the   
bloodthirsty crowd, it appeared as if he had given up and resigned   
himself to his fate. The closest thug, a massive Irishman named   
McCormick, leaped with the intention of tackling the vigilante,   
all of the crooks who dealt with McCormick knew that once a man   
was pinned under the big man, nothing short of an act of God would   
move him.  
  
Unfortunately for McCormick, this wasn't any ordinary man.  
  
No one realized the Batman had moved until they heard the   
sound of a gloved fist striking flesh and bone and saw McCormick's   
body boomerang away from the masked man and slam into two of the   
three other men that were also rushing in. The last member of   
that first wave that had approached the Batman had the presence of   
mind to withdraw back into the safety of the crowd as his fellow   
killers fell to the floor in a tangle. Beyond the slight stirring   
of his cape, the Batman did not appear to have moved from his   
original position.   
  
If this weren't enough to unnerve the roomful of rogues, the   
Batman said in a voice as cold as death itself, "I want the people   
who killed Richard Drake. I know Zucco's involved, but I want the   
man who planted the bomb in Drake's car. I will get my answers   
gentlemen, even if I have to put the lot of you in the hospital.   
Make it easy on yourselves, give me Zucco's trouble boys and save   
yourselves a world of pain."  
  
Indecision jumped from one cruel face to the next as each   
person in the room weighed his next move. The Batman decided to   
fuel to the flame of fear he was fanning and added, "I would   
suggest that someone in here start talking because contrary to   
popular belief, YOU are trapped in here with ME." And then the   
Batman did something quite unexpected that made the men in the   
room realize how true those words were.  
  
He smiled. The Batman smiled as if he were a shark in a   
pool of minnows. The Batman smiled as if the fight were already   
over. He smiled as if he had already thrown every punch and saw   
the end result of every action. The Batman smiled as if he had   
fought the battle...  
  
...And he had won it hands down.  
  
Unfortunately for the Dark Knight, he hadn't taken into   
account the sudden and somewhat abrupt debut of Dinah Drake's   
newly assumed masked persona as she came crashing in through the   
skylight overhead.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
INTERLUDE  
  
?????????????  
  
Jim Corrigan stood in the light and waited. He didn't know   
how long he had stood there waiting for something to happen, but   
he didn't mind much. In his ears he heard the whispers of so many   
lost loved ones, his father and mother, his cousin Pete who was   
killed in the war a couple of years ago, the numerous brother   
officers that he called friend, and people who he knew were   
related to his cases over the years as victims or survivors   
grateful for his help in bringing those who had wronged them to   
justice.   
  
The chorus of voices was unlike anything that Corrigan had   
ever heard in his lifetime. There was peace here, a peace he had   
desired for so long in his service to justice but never found.   
There was always so much more evil than he expected so much more   
he felt he could do.   
  
"JAMES CORRIGAN."  
  
The chorus fell silent as the thunderclap that called out   
Corrigan's name reverberated across the vast expanse. Corrigan   
searched far and wide for a person to go with the voice, but he   
stood alone in the light.  
  
"Who's there? Who are you?" Corrigan asked. His own voice   
sounded so small and far away in his ears but if this were his   
first audience with God he wanted to be sure he had the right guy.  
  
"I AM, JAMES CORRIGAN, THAT SHOULD BE ENOUGH." The thunder   
replied. "YOU WERE TAKEN FROM LIFE BY VIOLENCE AND EVIL, AND   
THOUGH YOU MAY CLAIM ETERNAL REST, I WOULD LIKE TO OFFER YOU AN   
ALTERNATIVE."  
  
"An alternative? There's some kind of alternative to the   
afterlife?"  
  
"IN YOUR PARTICULAR CASE, JAMES CORRIGAN, YES. YOU HAVE   
UNFINISHED BUSINESS, A PROMISE TO KEEP."  
  
"The only promise I made before I was killed was one that   
can't be kept." Corrigan answered sorrowfully. "Benson beat me   
and put enough lead in me to make sure I wouldn't come back to   
bother him." Corrigan sighed, "I failed Clarice and myself,   
nothing can change that."  
  
"I CAN CHANGE IT, JAMES CORRIGAN. I CAN GIVE YOU THE CHANCE   
TO FULFILL YOUR PROMISE TO AVENGE THE EVIL DONE TO YOU AND TO   
PREVENT EVIL FROM OVERWHELMING OTHERS, BUT THERE IS A PRICE."  
  
" You're offering me the chance to save Clarice and get Gat   
Benson? I'd go to hell and back if that's what it took."  
  
"YOU MAY HAVE TO DO JUST THAT, JAMES CORRIGAN. I WILL   
RETURN YOU TO THE LIVING TO AVENGE YOURSELF AND THE WOMAN YOU LOVE   
IF YOU WILL BECOME ONE OF MY AGENTS ON EARTH." came the thundering   
reply.  
  
"That sounds too simple, what's the catch?" Corrigan asked   
in a wary tone of voice.  
  
"YOU WILL NEVER KNOW THE ETERNAL SLEEP OF DEATH. YOU WILL   
BE AN EARTHBOUND SPECTRE; AN UNAGING, UNRELENTING FORCE FOR GOOD."  
  
"And all it costs me is the peace that I've longed for all   
of my life." Corrigan stated flatly. "You want me to toss away   
paradise to become a ghost detective."  
  
"YOU HAVE A CHOICE, JAMES CORRIGAN."  
  
Corrigan looked down at his ghostly hands and shook his head   
slowly, "No, Mister Voice, I don't have a choice in the matter at   
all. If it saves Clarice, then I'm in." Corrigan felt himself   
being ripped away from the light, he felt himself spiraling back   
into the world he once knew.   
  
"And paradise be damned."  
  
With those final words, Corrigan's world suddenly slipped   
from the blinding light into obsidian darkness.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
EIGHT: "YOU CAN'T LIVE WITH THEM..."  
  
MURRAY'S BAR & GRILL, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 19, 1938...  
  
"Hell and damnation!",   
  
The Batman hissed the oath quietly through clenched teeth.   
The Dark Knight thought he had compensated for every contingency   
when he was preparing for his assault on this particular den of   
thieves. He had managed to learn enough about the building's   
layout to seal off every possible exit using heavy chains and   
padlocks to soldering the safety latches on the barred windows so   
they offered no hope of escape. All of the Batman's careful   
planning, all of the preparation he had put into insuring that   
these hardened thugs would be quivering lumps of jelly by the time   
he had gotten around to grilling them about Richard Drake's murder   
had been ruined by the slender young woman who came crashing   
through the skylight above.  
  
The Batman was no fool, he knew the blonde vision who landed   
on her feet like a cat was in all likelihood Dinah Drake. Batman   
recognized the look on her face, the obsession and grief that was   
once held in his own heart had taken root on the girl's admirably   
disguised features. Beneath his cowl, Bruce Wayne's brow creased   
with concern. He knew from personal experience that being too   
focused, too driven could be as detrimental as not being driven   
enough. As much as he regretted the headstrong young woman's   
blundering into this situation, the Batman had already begun to   
adapt as the gathered criminals regained a little bit of their   
lost confidence.  
  
"Look", shouted someone in the crowd, "it's a dame!"  
  
"And wotta dame!", shouted another, "Look at the gams on   
that canary!"  
  
Another added, "Grab her, she's gotta be the Batman's   
partner!"  
  
"I'd grab her, bo, even if she wasn't!", said still another   
man lustily. The last speaker stood at the best possible point of   
attack, he was closest to masked girl, but out of reach of the   
Batman. The big man's beefy hands reached out hungrily for the   
girl with more than restraint in mind. "C'mere and sing for   
poppa, canary.", he said through dingy, yellowed teeth.  
  
Dinah was silent and still as the thug closed in. As quick   
as a flash of lightning her hand knifed out, harshly jabbing the   
bruiser's throat and drawing a choked gurgle from the surprised   
thug. Dinah didn't stay still after that, she dove over the   
gasping mountain of muscle, grabbing his shirt at the shoulders.   
She jerked hard, using her momentum to help her pull the stunned   
man over her head as she landed. The floor shook when the thug's   
body smashed into it, and he lay senseless before the crouching   
masked woman who stood up straight and said, "Fresh. Next time   
keep your hands to yourself."  
  
The crowd was stunned back into silence and uncertainty as   
the masked blonde crossed the room and stood at the Batman's side.   
She looked at the masked man impassively and said, "Sorry, I   
didn't mean to interrupt."  
  
The Batman stared the woman for a moment before he returned   
his attention to the bar's patrons. "As I was saying people, I   
want the person, or people who planted the bomb in Richard Drake's   
car, or the person who set Drake up. If I don't hear something in   
the next thirty seconds, my associate's going to pick out a new   
dance partner." The woman at the Batman's side started slightly   
but the only person who noticed was the Batman himself. Since the   
masked woman had already proven herself a dangerous element to the   
people in the room, Batman decided to milk it for what it was   
worth. "And if that doesn't work, gentlemen, it'll be MY turn to   
pick a playmate."   
  
Almost immediately, a weasel faced man started shouting,   
"Hey, wait a second! You can't bust up the joint and harass us   
like this! We've got rights y'know!"  
  
The Batman's arm swept back and something flew across the   
room in a black blur, smacked the little man hard in the face and   
returned back to the Batman's hand in the space of three   
heartbeats. "We're not the police", Batman said as the small man   
fell to the floor holding his nose, "and the only rights you have   
now are the ones I'm giving you." Batman folded the bat shaped   
boomerang that he had thrown and placed it somewhere in the inky   
blackness of his cloak. "Now I believe you boys were about to   
share some information with us."  
  
"It... it was Benson, Gat Benson." replied an elderly,   
somber faced gambler by the name of Manelli. "They say he set the   
whole thing up and even managed to dust another one of Gordon's   
boys, Jim Corrigan."   
  
Batman nodded, the papers had been filled with the story of   
the missing hero detective and his bride-to-be. The mystery was   
one that the Batman felt was related and if he could find Drake's   
killers, he'd most certainly lay hands upon the person responsible   
for Corrigan's disappearance. "What else?" prompted the Batman,   
"What's Zucco and Benson's game, why did they have to kill these   
men?"  
  
"I dunno Batman.", Manelli answered. "Some say Zucco   
thought he could make Gordon ease off his mob by letting Benson   
punch Drake and Corrigan's tickets. Others say he was trying open   
up Gotham for other crooks with the hope that they would cause   
problems for the Maronis." The sad faced man shook his head   
slowly as he talked. "Either way, it didn't work, Gordon's boys   
have been leaning heavy on the mobs, and the rest of us. Maroni   
got tired of the heat and put the word out on Zucco and his boys;   
fifty G's for any of the Zucco gang found inside the city limits   
and a cool hundred for anyone who gets Zucco or Benson dead or   
alive."  
  
"You talk too much Manelli." growled Eel O'Brien, an oily   
looking, dark haired man who sat opposite the old gambler.   
"Nobody likes a stoolie."  
  
"Shaddup Eel!" Manelli shouted. "Corrigan may have been a   
hard nosed bastard, but Rick Drake always did right by me and a   
lot of the rest of us. He had class, even in a bust he treated   
mugs like me with respect. Zucco didn't have to burn him and have   
every bull in Gotham out for our blood!" Other people in the bar   
grumbled their agreement to Manelli's statement and with a proper   
expression of humiliation, Eel O'Brien shut his mouth and nursed   
his beer.  
  
"Word is that Zucco's pulled out of Gotham and gone back to   
the sticks to squeeze money out of traveling shows that are   
passing through." Manelli continued. "Benson's supposed to still   
be in Gotham, laying low."  
  
"Still in Gotham?" echoed the Batman. "Why? I would think   
that Gotham would be the last place Benson would want to stay."  
  
"Well he's got some inside help." Manelli answered. "They   
say Benson's got a couple of bulls under his thumb and they keep   
him one step ahead of the blues and the thugs."  
  
The Batman asked no more questions, he turned on his heel   
and with a flutter of his dark cloak began to walk for the door.   
Over his shoulder he heard the masked blonde woman say, "Why did   
you talk Manelli? Why tell us all of this?" Batman stopped, he   
wanted to hear the answer himself.  
  
"Well it's like this lady," Manelli answered. "besides   
having to tangle with you and your boyfriend there, I'm an old   
timer and there are things we respected in the old days. Rick had   
a little girl who used to walk the beat with him. Cute as a   
button she was, and he loved her somethin' awful. Well I've got a   
daughter myself, Emmy, and once she took sick and needed an   
operation, so I took a break in job with some punks who had been   
pulling off a bunch of them without gettin' caught. They said   
that we'd make a quick haul on some easy money. Well Rick Drake   
and Harvey Harris took us down with that kid sidekick of theirs."  
  
The Batman remembered that night well, it was the night he   
was officially taken under Harvey Harris' wing as his partner.   
Bruce had managed to see the pattern in the way the crooks   
operated, that had been overlooked by the police. Harris and   
Drake took him along for the raid and arrest.   
  
"I didn't know what I was gonna do!" Manelli continued.   
"Emmy needed that operation and I got pinched as a two time loser.   
This would've been the long stretch for me if it hadn't been for   
Drake. He got me off with a minor charge when he realized I   
hadn't been in with the gang on all the other jobs. I did a   
couple of weeks in the cooler for the robbery, but when I got out   
my Emmy was all better; Drake made sure of that and even kept her   
at his place with his kid."  
  
Dinah thought she had recognized the old man, Emmy Manelli   
still kept in touch with the Drakes and had taken to calling   
Richard Drake "Uncle Rick". Dinah still remembered her childhood   
playmate fondly, but had only met Emmy's father once over fifteen   
years ago. The man that sat at the table wore the same grateful   
expression on his face that he had when Dinah first met him.  
  
"I owe him miss, if you get Zucco and Benson before one of   
us does, then I've paid Rick back for what he did for me."   
Manelli smiled at her. "In the old days, miss, we'd have never   
killed a guy like that and any mug who does deserves whatever he   
gets. Rick Drake was a prince of guy, miss, he deserved better."  
  
"Coming?" The Batman said coolly over his shoulder. Dinah   
Drake turned to follow the masked man and managed to keep the   
tears from falling until she was out of sight of the men and women   
of Murray's Bar and Grill.  
  
Outside, Dinah managed to compose herself by remembering the   
purpose for her being out in a mask, wig and fishnets in the first   
place. The murder of her father had to be avenged, but it was   
still moving to hear and see the regard Richard Drake held even   
from those who were on the opposite side of the law. She wasn't   
prepared for that and it caught her off guard almost as much as   
the mysterious masked man who walked ahead of her and had referred   
to her as his "associate". He didn't seem to display any type of   
emotion even when something as unexpected as her barging into his   
investigation happened. Attempting to follow his example, Dinah   
wiped away the last of her tears. As luck would have it, she   
managed to accomplish this before the Batman turned to address   
her.   
  
"That was a reckless move young lady, you could've gotten   
yourself killed." The Batman said. His form seemed to be one   
continuos black shadow, blending easily in gloom of dimly lit   
streets.  
  
"I stopped worrying when I saw you in there." Dinah smiled   
and extended her gloved right hand, "You must be the Batman that's   
been making news all over the place for the past few days."  
  
The shadowy figure did not take the hand offered to him.   
"Don't change the subject." snapped the Batman coldly, "What are   
you doing here?"  
  
"The same thing you are." Dinah responded as she crossed   
her arms. "I'm looking for the murderers of Richard Drake."  
  
"Your help's appreciated but unnecessary. I'll find out who   
killed Drake."  
  
For a moment Dinah was stunned. She didn't expect the Dark   
Knight to welcome her into this situation as a full partner or   
anything, but to be so casually dismissed hit Dinah right in her   
Drake pride. Her eyes narrowed into thin slits behind her mask   
and Dinah's face flushed crimson as anger took hold. "It took you   
a bloody week to get around to checking out Murray's! Hell it was   
my very first stop!" The masked woman stabbed a finger into the   
Batman's broad chest, "You won't even find the cape on your back   
at this rate without my help!"  
  
"If you're quite finished..." Batman began to turn away   
which only served to push Dinah's anger up a notch.   
  
"I'm far from finished you pointy eared bastard!" Dinah   
screamed at the Batman's back. "You can't just walk away from me   
and think I'm going to go crawl under a rock! If you're not going   
to let me help, I'll crack this case without the talents of the   
high and mighty Batman!"   
  
The masked man stopped and turned slowly. His dark form   
towered over the slender woman as he stared intently into her   
eyes. "What leads can you turn up that I can't?"  
  
"Oh so you DO need me!" Dinah said triumphantly, "I know   
this town in ways you can't possibly be aware of, you may get to   
same solution that I do, but you'll always be a step behind Mister   
Masked Man!" As if to punctuate her statement Dinah turned on her   
heel and headed for the alley where her motorcycle was parked.   
She mentally began to review Gotham's list of demolition experts   
involved in the underworld. Dinah didn't have to tolerate the   
Batman's attitude and she'd show him that by beating him to the   
punch. She smiled, satisfied with the position she'd taken.  
  
The smile faded as soon as the Batman said, "I just thought   
I'd save you some needless legwork while you chased dead ends and   
useless clues."  
  
Dinah stopped short, "I beg your pardon?"  
  
The Batman's voice remained even as he answered the masked   
woman's question. "Well your next move will be to interview any   
of Gotham's known criminal demolition experts. You'll figure that   
one or more of these men were hired by Zucco or Benson to pull the   
job. If you can get one of these people to admit that they were   
indeed involved in the killing of Drake then maybe that person   
could be... 'persuaded' to make that fact known to Gordon who   
would then have enough to bring in Zucco and Benson and send them   
on a one way trip to the death house."  
  
Dinah was stunned. The Batman had outlined her entire plan   
of action in an almost scholarly fashion. The dark clad woman   
stared into the shadowy face of the masked man, she couldn't see   
the expression he wore in the murky semi-darkness, but she was   
fairly certain that it a smug one.  
  
The Batman saw he had gotten the young woman's undivided   
attention and he continued speaking, his voice still having the   
tone of an instructor at the police academy giving a lecture on   
the basics of detection. "I've already followed that particular   
thread and turned up nothing but dead ends."  
  
"Maybe you didn't check up on all possible angles," Dinah   
countered, "There must be dozens of places you haven't looked yet.   
Places you wouldn't even dream of looking. After all Gotham's a   
big city, there are more than enough places for one killer to   
hide."  
  
"You don't understand miss," The Batman responded, "I've   
searched this city from Park Row to Little China; from midtown to   
Spanish Newton; from Adam's Heights to the Cowan District and   
every known criminal blaster from Explosive Earl Andrews to Luke   
Kung to Dynamite Danny Zamboni has left Gotham for parts unknown.   
Every bombsman from the heavy hitters to the small time cracksman   
were removed from Gotham's underworld scene hours after Drake's   
death. I just thought I'd save you the trip, as a courtesy."  
  
Dinah realized that masked man mentioned parts of the city   
SHE wouldn't have considered herself. She was tempted to ask who   
among Park Row's elite would be involved in something like blowing   
up buildings or cracking safes, but she thought better of it and   
instead said, "Okay they've left Gotham, we can still track them   
down. What about..."  
  
"Midway City? Zenith? Empire City? New York?" The Batman   
rattled off the list of nearby major cities in the tri-state area   
as if he were giving Dinah a choice of places from a map for a   
trip. "There isn't a sign of them anywhere in a major or minor   
city, town, junction or borough that hasn't been investigated by   
either myself or Gordon in the last week."  
  
"I noticed you didn't mention Metropolis, didn't you check   
there?" Dinah asked quietly, she suspected that the Batman had   
avoided that city because of her own costumed protectors.  
  
A near imperceptible nod of the masked man's head preceded   
his spoken answer, "Despite the presence of the so-called   
'Metropolis Marvels' I did manage to find out that none of   
Gotham's missing blasters were there. If they are nearby,   
someone's made absolutely certain that they won't be turned up   
anytime in the near future."  
  
"There's no way Zucco or Benson could have made that   
happen.", Dinah responded, "They don't have that kind of power."  
  
"The Maroni's are probably involved as well.", Batman said.   
"By removing the local bombers, Gordon's attention will be fully   
focused on finding Zucco and Benson."  
  
"Eliminating their only competition either in a court of law   
or by a bullet from an overzealous policeman." Dinah said,   
finishing Batman's thought.  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"Then the only way to see justice done is to find Benson and   
Zucco before Gordon and hope that one will rat on the other?"   
Dinah's concern was evident, both men were hardened murderers, it   
would take more than the threat of jail to make one sell out the   
other. Looking at the man before her, Dinah knew if anyone stood   
a chance making such a thing happen, it was the Batman.  
  
"I realize you don't want me involved in this," Dinah said   
pensively, "but I have to do this, I have to find Zucco and   
Benson, I have to try to bring them in. It doesn't matter what   
you want me to do, I have to pursue them. If that means we're at   
odds the next time we meet, then so be it, but I won't be kept out   
of this." Dinah turned to go, this time with a purposeful stride   
and manner that lent strength to the seriousness of her words.  
  
The Batman's voice crept up behind her once more. "Fine.   
If you're going to persist in this we may as well work together so   
that I can make sure you don't get in over your head."  
  
"I can handle myself." Dinah said with stern certainty.  
  
"Of course you can." Batman said apologetically, "I didn't   
mean to offend you, miss. I'm well aware of your ability." Dinah   
mentally frowned up at that statement, did the Batman figure out   
who she was? The masked man's voice snapped Dinah's thoughts away   
from the concern of being found out. "So, young lady, what am I   
to call you? If we're going to be working together 'hey you'   
seems to be a name that won't necessarily strike fear in the   
hearts of criminals. Bat-Girl maybe?"  
  
"I don't think so." Dinah said defiantly. "We may be   
working together, but I'm my own woman." The masked woman's brow   
creased in thought for a moment. "The criminals underestimated me   
because of my gender, I think I'll leave fear to you and take   
advantage of that fact. They called me 'canary', so I think I'll   
go with that." Dinah noted the Batman's slight cringe at her   
choice in names. "Hey don't knock it, at least it flies."  
  
"I suppose. I'm just wondering if you'll be changing your   
costume to something... more colorful. I don't believe there's   
such a thing as a black canary."  
  
"There is now." Dinah said with the hint of a smile. "So   
how do I find you when I need you? It's not like you're in the   
phone book under 'B'".  
  
The Batman turned and started to recede into the shadows.   
"Don't worry Canary, when the time comes, I'll find you."  
  
"Okay...", Dinah said with some uncertainty in her voice.   
The Batman's last statement troubled her and brought back to the   
forefront of her thoughts the suspicion that Batman was fully   
aware of the true identity of his new partner. "Just a couple   
more questions before you leave."  
  
"Certainly", answered the Batman from somewhere in the   
darkness.  
  
"If you knew that Gotham's criminal bombers were no longer   
in town why the raid on Murray's?"  
  
"Appearances must be kept up, Canary. I want the police to   
think that I'm...", there was a slight pause in the darkness,   
"WE'RE not any farther along than they are." Dinah noted with   
appreciation the Batman's amendment to include her as a part of   
his overall plan. "The goal is to help the police, not replace   
them or hamper their investigation. They won't accept us if we   
show them up at every turn. What we know is not as important as   
what they think we know." The Batman paused a moment before   
saying, "You said you had a couple of questions."  
  
"Do I get to find out who you really are?"  
  
Silence followed Dinah's question.   
  
"Batman?" Dinah tried to find the faint outline where she   
thought the Dark Knight was standing, but she couldn't. Seconds   
ticked off before Dinah realized that the Batman had slipped away.  
  
In the distance, maybe a block over or closer, Dinah heard   
the growl of a car engine. As it rounded the corner, headlights   
illuminated the area, revealing that Dinah was indeed quite alone.   
As the sleek black coupe shot past her, Dinah was fairly certain   
her new partner was behind the wheel.  
  
"Okay," Dinah said to the shadows that returned to the   
street around her, "I'll take that as a 'no'."  
  
And as she watched the coupe speed off into night washed   
street, Dinah Drake was left with her thoughts and the growing   
shadows of the night.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
INTERLUDE  
  
FINGER ALLEY, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 19, 1938  
  
She waited in the darkness wishing that the torture the   
waiting brought to her heart and mind would end. No one had   
touched her since the night she and Jim were taken prisoner. Well   
almost no one, she remembered rough hands fondling her, trying to   
take off her clothes and for a moment she feared the worst, but   
the man Jim called Gat had stopped the man who tried to force   
himself upon her.  
  
"Stop that you mug!", she remembered hearing somewhere   
beyond the dull darkness of her blindfold that pushed her stinging   
tears back into her eyes. "She's our insurance if the cops come   
after us! I don't want her touched!"  
  
"But boss, you said we could...", the complaint was cut off   
with a loud slap and the sound of a body falling into either boxes   
or padded flooring.  
  
"Nats!", came Benson's gruff voice. "With her boyfriend   
dead, this little honey's the only thing we've got left to bargain   
with! We stand a better chance of gettin' out of this wit' a   
whole skin if she's jake when we return her. Now you mugs get her   
some grub an' somebody get my plant on the phone, it's time to   
find out how close Gordon's gettin'!"  
  
The door closed quietly and the girl could only hear muffled   
voices on the other side. Benson's last statements were enough to   
let her know that Jim wouldn't be coming to her rescue. Clarice   
knew now that her beloved Jim Corrigan was dead, probably murdered   
by those monsters in the other room. Her heart filled with cold   
despair as she realized her only hope had died before he had a   
chance to save her.  
  
****************  
  
Gat Benson was nervous. He'd been nervous since he and the   
boys had tossed Corrigan's stiffening corpse off the pier at   
Gotham Bay. Everything had backfired, Gordon came on even   
stronger than ever, the heat went up on Maroni as well as Zucco   
and in the end Benson was left on his own, abandoned by his former   
employer, Fat Tony Zucco. Even though he sat in a plush suite of   
rooms in an old rooming house he often used for a hide out, Benson   
found himself listening for the sirens of police cars or worse   
still, some hard guy who tumbled on him looking to collect the   
bounty the Maroni mob had on his head.   
  
For Benson it didn't matter how it turned out. He was a   
scrapper, a survivor, he knew the score and how to play the game.   
Plus he had something even Fat Tony didn't have, his boy on the   
inside; his plant in Jim Gordon's detective squad. Despite the   
outcome, his boy had paid off well. The info Benson had gotten   
had led to the dusting of two of Gordon's best men. He didn't   
really have much against Richard Drake, that guy was more or less   
a necessary hit given the fact his little girl pretty much shut   
down Zucco's trap and gambling operation to boot, but Corrigan was   
a pleasure to kill. Benson had his inside guy to thank for the   
whole thing, but right now he needed his plant to deliver once   
more and help the killer and his gangsters get out of Gotham.  
  
"I don't care how tight Gordon's got this burg, there's   
gotta be a way to get out of here!" Zucco said angrily. The   
speaker on the other side said something that only added to   
Benson's frustration and anger. "Well you've got to have some   
kind of pull, you're on the damned squad!" Another pause while   
Benson listened intently to the person on the other end of the   
receiver. "And that's why I didn't tell you where I bumped   
Corrigan, if you led the bulls there, they might connect us up!   
You're only valuable to me as long as Gordon doesn't suspect you!"   
Benson's excited tone faded as his caller said something a bit   
more to the killer's liking. "Right we could try that, a phony   
bust with an 'unexpected' escape might work!" Benson's caller   
interrupted Benson's gloating for a moment with another comment.   
"No, if you get the right guys for the detail, no one else has to   
get killed."   
  
Another short interruption caused Benson's craggy face to   
wrinkle up with concern. "Hey you're not losing your nerve are   
you?" Another pause with Benson's caller taking on an animated   
tone that could almost be heard beyond the phone's earpiece.   
"Okay, okay! I know some of these mugs are your pals, I got the   
punk I wanted when I got Jimmy Corrigan! My only wish is that 'ol   
Jimmy were still around so I could kill him again. Call me when   
you've made the arrangements."  
  
Softly, almost too softly to be heard, a whisper came to   
Benson's ears. "Be careful what you wish for tough guy."  
  
Benson was still holding the phone receiver in his hand. At   
first he stared at it thinking his caller had spoken once more.   
But he had heard the line click off and go dead, he knew that the   
voice hadn't come from there. Slamming the receiver into the   
cradle, Benson whirled around looking to see who spoke. The   
gunmen who had been with Benson since the murder of Corrigan were   
playing cards across the room, they stopped when they saw the   
killer's startled reaction.  
  
"What is it boss?" asked a heavyset, thick lipped thug.  
  
Benson was still looking around the room, confusion clouding   
his face. "Did you boys hear somethin'?"  
  
"Not a thing boss. You heard somethin'?"  
  
"I don't know Luko." Benson answered cautiously. "Still I   
think I want you boys to take a look outside, just to be sure."  
  
"Sure boss, no problem." The men rose from their chairs,   
armed themselves with a couple of handguns and then stalked out of   
the room trying not to look concerned at the fact that their boss   
may be on the verge of cracking up.   
  
"They should be able to handle any punk that might be out   
there." Benson said aloud for no particular reason.  
  
"And it gives us a little time alone before they come back,   
Gat. It gives us time to settle old scores and to find out just   
how much you're going to have to pay the piper." The soft whisper   
tickled Benson's ears, the voice was a familiar one somehow, but   
Benson hadn't placed it yet.  
  
Benson twirled as if he had been spun by an unseen hand. He   
looked all over the room and couldn't find the source of the   
voice. "Where are you?!" Benson shouted. "Show yourself you   
mug, c'mon out and let's face off man to man!" Benson whipped out   
one of his guns, waiting to see who his mysterious intruder was   
and plug him before he could become a problem.  
  
"Now what are you going to do with the gun big man, kill   
me?" Benson was beyond panicked at this point. Wild eyed he   
continued to search in vain for some sign of a speaker. "Now   
that's going to be kind of tough Gat, don't you think?"  
  
The voice had suddenly taken on a stronger quality, it felt   
more "solid", more real in his ears now. He whirled once more.  
  
"Besides Gat, you've already tried that one and it didn't   
work." Benson's eyes fell upon the familiar face and form of a   
man he thought was dead. A man he thought he had killed just a   
few days ago. Benson found himself face-to-face with Jim Corrigan   
who was looking awfully good for a man who had something in the   
neighborhood of twelve slugs in his chest and stomach when Benson   
last saw him.  
  
Benson blinked his eyes in disbelief, "I'm dreamin' this!   
You're dead!"  
  
"I'm a fast healer Gat." Corrigan said, smiling broadly, "I   
got better."  
  
Benson's head shook violently, his hands trembled so badly   
that the gun he held was nearly a vibrating blur.   
"Nonononononono! Th-this is some kind of trick, one of the boys   
havin' some fun with me! Y-y-y-you're some kinda fake tryin' to   
scare me!"  
  
"Oh I'm no fake Gat, but you have every reason to be   
afraid.", Corrigan said quietly. "Now about my promise to you   
about Clarice..."  
  
"Hey I never touched her Corrigan! I didn't lay a hand on   
her at all! I don't know how you lived through all that lead, but   
your girl's fine!" Benson wailed like a baby with his hands up in   
protest. "I can prove it, she's in the next room!"  
  
"Gat, tell me when we last saw each other, where were we?"   
Corrigan asked calmly.  
  
"W-what?" stammered the mobsman, "Whaddaya talkin' about?"  
  
"Oh come on Gat, you KILLED me there for crying out loud!   
It can't be that hard to recall, I remember it!" Corrigan paused   
with an expression on his face that showed how much he was   
enjoying this whole situation. Benson's confusion to Corrigan's   
appearance among the living relatively unscathed was increased by   
his line of questioning.   
  
Corrigan's voice broke into Benson's dizzying confusion,   
"Maybe you've just killed so many men that you tend to forget   
where or how you've killed them." Corrigan smiled a calm, yet   
maddening smile at Benson as if he were in possession of some   
incredibly obvious secret that Benson had yet to tumble on. "I   
can understand that.", Corrigan stated, still smiling. "Let me   
see if I can help you out some. We were out on the docks, I wore   
this tux, you wore a bad suit and at least two pistols. You   
threatened my girl while I was lying on the floor with a bunch of   
holes in me, bleeding all over the floor. You remember yet? When   
you moved Clarice from the docks to this place you had to lift her   
at the very least and to lift her, you had to touch her."  
  
"That ain't the same thing!", Benson protested.  
  
"I don't recall being specific as to what kind of touching   
had to be involved, Gat, old boy." Corrigan said smugly.  
  
"But the boys...", Benson began.  
  
"...were following your orders." Corrigan finished. "Which   
is pretty much the same thing to me."  
  
"You can't be Corrigan! If you were still alive, half of   
the Gotham PD would have been on your heels or I'd be dead!" Gat   
brought his gun up and took careful aim at the man calling himself   
Jim Corrigan. "Whoever the hell you are, you ain't takin' me down   
without a fight!" Benson tried to sound unafraid, but failed   
miserably. Corrigan seemed unaffected by the introduction of a   
gun into the situation, in fact it appeared as if Corrigan's smile   
grew a little wider at Benson's agitation.  
  
"Oh my brother officers will be along soon enough Gat. I   
just wanted this moment to be between us. I wanted to watch you   
squirm like the rat you are before I dealt with you." Corrigan   
rose from his where he sat and started to walk towards Benson.   
"See when two guys have something as intimate as death between   
them, something as crass as a straight out killing would be too   
merciful. Besides a promise is a promise Gat, and as I said, it's   
time to pay the piper."  
  
"I killed you once," Benson cried shrilly, "I can do it   
again!" Benson could've sworn that Corrigan's eyes had begun glow   
with a spectral light. The gunman blinked his eyes, thinking his   
fear was making him see things, but the glow continued to grow in   
intensity.  
  
"I've decided that I'm not going to kill you after all,"   
Corrigan said quietly, "but you'll wish I had when I'm done with   
you. As to killing me again I don't think that'll work."  
  
The air had grown thick around the mobster and Gat felt as   
if the room were spinning madly out of control. Something strange   
was happening, he could feel it. Still Benson had the presence of   
mind to ask Corrigan one more question. "What do you mean killing   
you won't work?"  
  
Corrigan smiled at the mobster one last time. "Well Gat I   
never said I was alive in the first place, did I?"  
  
Corrigan's words hit home and Gat Benson knew what he was   
dealing with at last. Somehow Jim Corrigan had managed to come   
back from the grave and make good on his promise. Somehow the man   
who was a relentless opponent in life was even more formidable in   
death. Benson knew now that he didn't face a man of flesh and   
bone, a man who could be killed with a gun or knife; he faced a   
spirit, a spectre who came from beyond the grave to make certain   
that Benson pay for the crimes of a lifetime.  
  
Gat Benson's last rational memory as his world grew dark   
around him was the sound of a scream in his ears. A scream of   
someone or something facing the ultimate horror of ultimate   
suffering.  
  
As the world slipped away from him, Gat Benson realized that   
the voice that unleashed the scream roaring in his ears, a scream   
that chilled his soul to the very core came from his own lips.  
  
And Gat Benson's world faded to black.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
NINE: "...YOU CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT THEM..."  
  
THE BATCAVE, DECEMBER 20, 1938...  
  
The Batman wearily exited the coupe after parking it for   
tomorrow's travels. Despite the rumors that were in circulation   
about the tireless crusade of the Batman, Bruce Wayne felt as if   
he could sleep for weeks. Wayne removed his cowl and cape and   
began to strip off his costume. Part of his agreement with Alfred   
had been that the Batman costume remained in the cave, both men   
agreed that it would've been awkward trying to explain why Bruce   
Wayne fancied running around his manor home dressed like giant   
bat. With Batman's growing reputation, any slip could compromise   
all of Wayne's work, something Bruce wasn't ready to do for a   
while. As he headed for the shower in the cave's living quarters,   
Bruce was quietly distracted by the thought of Dinah Drake and   
wondering if he had made the right decision by allowing her to   
take part in his crusade.  
  
As the hot water streamed into the shower stall, hung his   
yellow "utility belt" on the hook where Alfred had left out his   
fresh costume and noticed that Alfred had also laid out a pair of   
black trousers, slippers and the red silk smoking jacket that   
belonged to Bruce's father.  
  
A twinge of grief passed through Bruce as he thought about   
his parents again, but it was quickly replaced by the love he knew   
they shared as a family and what it was that love which sent him   
out into Gotham's mean streets as the Batman. He never wanted   
anyone to suffer the same way he did after that cowardly criminal   
took their lives in a bungled robbery.   
  
As he stepped into the shower, Bruce thought about his own   
legacy. Would the only thing left of his family be the Batman?   
Sure the handsome young millionaire was engaged to Julie Madison,   
a beauty who was rapidly becoming one of the brightest young stars   
to ever grace the Broadway stage, but they hadn't seen each other   
for several months. Julie was what Bruce needed in college, a   
friend who became a sweetheart; but could she be content as a wife   
when the roles of the stage called to her with almost as much   
passion as the role of the Batman called to him? Bruce knew the   
question had to be resolved soon enough, but oddly enough the   
answer he hoped to find in the revitalizing spray of the shower   
eluded him. Bruce's thoughts danced between the beautiful and   
refined Julie Madison and the lovely, rough and tumble Dinah Drake   
and he found himself more than little captivated by the way the   
latter had grown into a woman of such strong character.  
  
With a sigh, Bruce turned off the water, toweled himself dry   
and then dressed. Bruce's mindset had changed from the dreamy   
state it was in to one that began to consider the logistics of   
bringing Dinah into the fold as a full partner. For the time   
being, Bruce decided not to reveal his double life to Dinah. He   
knew this would require some kind of signal to inform Alfred to   
remain out of sight during any visits to the cave as well as   
whatever safeguards are necessary to keep the girl from   
recognizing the lay of the land as Bruce Wayne's property. As   
Bruce mounted the stairs, he wondered just what Alfred's reaction   
would be to the woman who now called herself the Black Canary as   
his partner.  
  
Bruce checked the peephole drilled into wall frame at the   
top of the stairwell, making sure that the study was not occupied   
by any unexpected visitors. Satisfied that the room was empty,   
Bruce stepped into the book lined room and strolled over to the   
desk where a sheaf of papers regarding various aspects of projects   
funded by the Wayne fortune awaited him. As if he had been at the   
desk the entire evening, Bruce casually picked up the house phone   
which buzzed over an intercom to several receiver boxes around the   
massive mansion and spoke.   
  
"Alfred, could I get a cup of coffee brought up to me? I'm   
just about done with my papers." Bruce quietly settled the   
receiver back into the cradle and smiled to himself, the pantomime   
with the house phone was another idea of Alfred's to insure that   
if someone were in the house that he was unaware of, that it would   
appear as if he had been home in the study with orders that he was   
not to be disturbed. So far it hadn't been a ploy that was   
needed, but it became the standard "signal" to let Alfred know   
that he was back in the mansion. If nothing else the routine   
served to keep Bruce and Alfred in the habit of protecting the   
secret of the Batman.  
  
Bruce continued to read over his papers and after about five   
minutes or so he heard the knob start to turn and the door opened   
to admit Alfred who carried a tray with a copper coffee kettle,   
small silver bowls containing cream and sugar and a china cup.   
"Your coffee Master Bruce."  
  
Bruce looked up from his paper work. "Thanks Alfred. Wait   
until I tell you about what happened tonight! I..."  
  
"Sir," Alfred softly said with rigid British civility,   
"maybe we can 'talk shop' at some other time, we have a guest that   
may not understand the nature of your nocturnal pursuits."  
  
"A guest?" Bruce said growing suddenly tense. "When did   
they, show up? Why didn't you tell me? Who is it?"  
  
Alfred continued to set up the coffee service, he had moved   
close enough to Bruce to continue talking in a hushed whisper.   
"Arrived while you were in the cave, tried to warn you over the   
intercom, but you didn't respond."  
  
Bruce chided himself for being so absorbed while he was in   
the shower. He had switched off the intercom in that part of the   
cave out of force of habit, Bruce often did the same thing in the   
manor. "Sorry Alfred."  
  
"Not to worry sir, I simply said you were in the study and   
didn't want to be disturbed. Our company quite understood, given   
the lateness of the hour."  
  
"You still haven't told me who, Alfred."  
  
"Unless my ears have failed me sir, you're about to see for   
yourself.", whispered the older man.  
  
Bruce was aware of the clicking of heels in the hall   
outside, they stopped outside of the half opened door just before   
it flung open to reveal a stunning brunette wrapped in a gorgeous   
fur coat. It was obvious she had just gotten in from a long   
journey from the sleep weary look on her face. The sleepy   
expression evaporated as soon as the young woman laid eyes on   
Bruce. She glided across the room and threw arms around Bruce's   
neck while placing a passionate kiss on his lips. Alfred   
discreetly removed himself from the room, leaving the young couple   
alone in the study.  
  
"Julie?" Bruce said as the kiss came to an end. "What are   
you doing here?"  
  
The dark haired woman frowned slightly at Bruce's response.   
"Well that's a fine 'how do you do', Bruce! I'd thought you'd be   
happy to see me!"  
  
"Well of course I'm happy to see you sweetheart, but I   
thought your show was still running for another two weeks. I   
guess I just didn't expect to see you before that."  
  
Julie Madison's smile radiated so brightly that the room   
seemed to light up a little brighter. "That's why they call it a   
surprise, silly!" Julie's hand affectionately stroked the back of   
Bruce's neck. "Actually the show closed because our leading man   
and his stand in both caught the flu. Rather than risk the show   
to further problems down the road, we closed production for the   
holidays. We hadn't spent any time together in a while so I   
hopped on the first train to Gotham and here I am!"  
  
A slight cough turned the couple's attention from one   
another to the half opened door. The shadow of Alfred's profile   
lingered outside the door.   
  
"Yes Alfred, what is it?", Bruce said, his arms still around   
Julie's waist.  
  
"Sorry to interrupt sir, I just wanted Miss Madison to know   
that I've set her luggage up in the guest rooms on the East Wing   
of the house."  
  
"Luggage?", Bruce said with a questioning glance at Julie.  
  
"Well I'm not due back in New York for two weeks, so I hoped   
we could spend the holidays together." Julie said with a   
questioning glance of her own at Bruce. "I mean that is all right   
isn't it, Bruce?"  
  
Bruce's face pasted on a hasty smile as he answered Julie's   
question. "Of course it's all right Julie. It's kind of late to   
be searching for a hotel room anyway. In the morning..."  
  
"I guess Alfred didn't have a chance to tell you.", Julie   
said with growing unease at Bruce's odd behavior. "Everything in   
Gotham worth staying in is booked for the upcoming Winter Carnival   
at the Gotham County Fairgrounds. I thought I could stay here, I   
mean we are still engaged aren't we?" Julie's eyes searched for   
some hint of why Bruce was acting so strangely, she was relieved   
however to see a smile come to his face.  
  
"I can't think of a better place for you to stay sweetheart.   
I'm just worried about Gotham's scandal mongers. I mean you come   
here on the spur of the moment to my house and practically move in   
under cover of darkness, someone may get the wrong impression."   
Bruce's tone of voice was apologetic and his explanation a   
plausible one, Julie quietly let go of her fears and smiled back   
at Bruce.  
  
"Is that what all this fuss is about? I don't remember your   
being so concerned over a scandal that night we skinny-dipped in   
the college's swimming pool." Julie quipped.  
  
"I also wasn't one of Gotham's leading citizens then my   
dear. Besides the sight of you that night was worth the two week   
suspension." Bruce said smiling.  
  
"Well you needn't worry about your reputation Bruce, Alfred   
already took that into consideration, I'll be moving into the   
guest house tomorrow by the stables. That should keep the press   
and the gossips satisfied and I'll still get be with you day and   
night for the next two weeks! Isn't that wonderful?" Julie   
pulled close to Bruce and hugged him tight.  
  
"Yes Julie, it will be." Bruce answered with a expression   
far less enthusiastic than the sound of his voice Julie's ear.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
INTERLUDE  
  
HALY'S CIRCUS OF THRILLS, GOTHAM FAIRGROUNDS, DECEMBER 20, 1938  
  
Joe "Pop" Haly watched the young man and woman hurtling high   
overhead. John and Mary Grayson, two-thirds of the moderately   
famous family of aerialists known as "The Flying Graysons", were   
rehearsing for tomorrow night's show which was part of Gotham's   
annual Winter Carnival. They were Haly's star attraction not just   
because grace and skill of the death defying duo that soared above   
him, but because of their son who waited for his turn on the   
platform, Dick Grayson.   
  
Grayson had become something of a child celebrity over the   
past few years. His exploits on the high wire began as early as   
six years old when he wowed the crowd with skills that only the   
most accomplished gymnast would have after years of training. On   
top of that he was a bight child who excelled at his   
correspondence studies to such a degree that at the ripe old age   
of thirteen, he was already thinking about which colleges he   
wanted to attend and most colleges were trying to find ways to get   
him into their student body when that day finally arrived.  
  
Dick's life as an aerialist was made all the more glamorous   
by his charm and good looks. Dick's parents prided themselves on   
the way they raised their son and despite the nomadic lifestyle   
family led, Dick seemed to be fairly well adjusted and likable.   
Girls swooned over his smooth, almost movie star like features;   
which were developing, day by day, into an almost exact replica of   
his father's dashing good looks. Dick's flashing blue eyes and   
ever present smile made him the role model of young men and the   
heartthrob of teen and preteen girls wherever the circus traveled.  
  
Still for all his skills in the air and his intelligence and   
looks away from the spotlight, Dick was still just a kid. He'd   
have preferred playing Robin Hood over some of the intense   
training required to maintain his athletic ability. He admired   
men like Flash Gordon, Indiana Jones or Charles Lindbergh; men who   
had lived lives far more adventurous than the one he lived, men   
who inspired the playing of little boys who wanted to be heroic.   
Dick was one of those kids who had put those days of pretend   
behind him when he hit his first official "teenage year" a few   
months ago, but he still carried within his the desire to live   
life like one of those legendary adventurers. Dick lived his   
entire life around the unusual, what so many others would consider   
extraordinary about circus life, Dick accepted as commonplace.   
All that was left for the young man to dream about was the   
fantastic and Pop had seen enough of Dick's spirit and drive to   
know that whatever he chose to do with his life, he was going to   
be someone special.  
  
Pop Haly watched as the young man caught the bar of the   
trapeze and swung out to his father. Though he had seen the   
Graysons perform this trick dozens of times, Haly always found   
himself on the edge of his seat, hoping that this would not be one   
of those times where the family's remarkable reflexes would not   
fail. Dick had reached the apex of his swing and he released his   
grip on the bar, across the tent, Dick's father mirrored his son's   
maneuver almost to the second. The two appeared to be on a   
collision course, both spinning through the air with their knees   
tucked to their chests, seemingly oblivious to one another. At   
the last possible moment, both men straightened out, the elder   
Grayson flying below the younger one with less than three inches   
of air separating them as they continued on to catch the trapeze   
bars that appeared to be waiting on them before they could begin   
the return trip to the platforms.  
  
Pop cheered and hollered like any rube that would've been in   
the stands, so did many of the other performers who had stopped   
what they were doing to watch the Grayson's routine. Rutledge,   
the circus ringmaster, cried through the megaphone he held,   
"Ladies and Gentlemen, let's hear another 'round of applause for   
the FLY-ing GRAAAYSOONS!"  
  
The yells of the assembled performers greeted the Graysons   
as they bowed from their respective platforms. Pop Haly ambled   
back to his trailer grinning like a kid, tomorrow's show was going   
to be one hell of an opening night, he could feel it. His smile   
faded as he approached his trailer and saw a stranger waiting   
outside. He had hoped that this wasn't what he thought it was,   
but the cruelty on the man's face had already answered his   
unspoken suspicions.  
  
"Something I can do for you pal?", Haly said warily.  
  
The man grinned at Haly and tipped his worn cowboy hat up so   
that he could look Pop in the eye. "Mister Zucco sends his   
regards Pop."  
  
"Damn." Haly answered hoarsely.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
To be concluded...  



	4. Gotham Knights: Preparations, Part Four

  
The author acknowledges that names, concepts, and images of   
many characters that may be used here and ALL related characters   
may be owned by other individuals and/or companies and that said   
owners retain complete rights to said characters. These concepts   
are used WITHOUT permission for NO PROFIT, but rather a strong   
desire to peer into the potential these characters have in a   
combined setting.  
  
This also acknowledges that original concepts presented here   
are the intellectual property of the author.  
  
*****************************************************  
GOTHAM KNIGHTS  
  
Preparations, Part 4  
  
Written by -- Ali  
Email -- SEricAli1@aol.com  
  
Edited by: Jason Tippitt & Tommy Hancock  
*****************************************************  
  
INTERLUDE  
  
FINGER ALLEY, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 20, 1938, DAWN...  
  
She was comforted by the closeness of him in the first rays of the   
morning sun. She rocked gently in his embrace, her tears a   
symphony of joy, relief and disbelief that he was really here.   
She relished everything about him, everything she thought she'd   
never see or feel about him again, but had regained through some   
miracle; some odd, wonderful twist of fate. His touch, his   
breathing, the sweet smell of his skin, the warmth of him made her   
feel so safe that she never wanted him to let go. She wanted this   
moment to freeze and stand still for as long as possible. She   
wanted to spend forever right here in his arms. Clarice Winston   
sighed quietly, contentedly, she was safe at last, safe in the   
arms of her fiancŽ, Jim Corrigan.  
  
"Jim, they said you were dead." Clarice managed to gasp out   
between sobs, "They said they killed you."  
  
"Nothing could keep me from you baby, not even death." Jim stroked   
her hair quietly and continued to gently rock back and forth, the   
rhythm of his motions helping to calm her down. "Those rats won't   
be causing you any more problems. That's a promise."  
  
They hadn't left the back room since Jim came in and untied her.   
She thought that she had heard screaming earlier, screaming that   
seemed to come from the depths of hell itself. In the back of her   
mind, she tried to figure out if those wails of terror were real   
or part of her feverish imagination. It didn't matter, none of it   
mattered, Jim walked in and slowly closed the door behind him.   
All that mattered was that Jim was with her now and everything was   
going to be fine. If anything took away from the quiet reunion   
was an occasional skittering noise from just beyond the door. To   
Clarice's ears it sounded like a mouse, several mice actually, but   
the tread was heavier, almost like a cat.  
  
"Jim what's that noise?"  
  
"What noise sweetheart?"  
  
"That scratching, it sounds like mice."  
  
"It's just a few rats, darling. Nothing to be afraid of, I'm here   
and they can't hurt you." Clarice noted a curious tone in Jim's   
voice as he said that, but when she looked up at his face, he wore   
the same expression of quiet confidence that made her feel at   
ease. If Jim said not to worry, she knew she could bank on that.   
She nuzzled closer to him and they sat in silence, drinking in the   
dawning of the new day.  
  
The stillness, the rightness of the moment was eventually   
interrupted by a new noise, the sound of people at the door in the   
other room. The rattle of the door handle had Clarice in a panic   
almost immediately as she hissed quietly, "Jim! Someone's trying   
to get in!"  
  
She looked up to see Jim smiling back at her. "It's probably just   
Gordon and the boys. I called them before I came in here to free   
you." Jim pulled Clarice a little closer and stroked her shoulder   
reassuringly. The rattling handle became a pounding at the door.   
"I'd better go let them in, before they break the door down or   
something."  
  
Clarice's fingernails dug deeply into Jim's forearm before he   
could fully rise from where they sat. "No Jim, let them break it   
down if they must," Clarice pleaded, "just don't leave me."  
  
Jim looked down at his fiancŽe thoughtfully. Clarice knew Jim was   
a man of action and that his sitting around waiting on the door to   
be broken in was not a part of his nature. She chewed on her   
lower lip before saying, "Jim, you don't know for sure if it's the   
police or those thugs that kidnapped us." Jim must have seen just   
how scared she was, he relented and settled back into his former   
position. Clarice relaxed a little bit as he smiled at her with a   
knowing look in his eye.  
  
"I told you honey, those rats won't be back." Reaching into the   
waistband of his trousers, Jim produced an ugly looking revolver.   
"Still it doesn't hurt to be prepared."  
  
The door in the other room shuddered with the force of bodies   
smashing into it and eventually it gave way with a loud snap and a   
thundering crash. The falling door was followed by a sudden rush   
of footfalls and the murmur of voices outside. There was the   
sound of skittering once more and Clarice clearly heard one of the   
people outside inhale sharply followed by a clicking noise.  
  
"Yah! RATS!!!" said a fear filled voice.  
  
"Larry, NO!!!" said another.  
  
The sudden report of a gun cut off any other comments from beyond   
the door. Jim was on his feet and halfway to the door before   
Clarice could react. The following shots drowned out the weak   
squeals of the rodents who were trying to scramble to safety if   
the pattering beyond the door were any indication. When the   
shooting stopped, Jim, with Clarice protected behind him, yanked   
open the door and found himself pointing his gun at the assembled   
members of the Gotham City Detective Squad.  
  
"Hold your fire boys," said James Gordon with an upraised hand,   
"it's Corrigan!"  
  
Clarice looked over the room and the scene that greeted her eyes   
was one that nearly brought a scream to her throat. There were   
the blood spattered remains of several ugly gray and brown rats,   
their bodies ripped open by bullets from the still smoking gun in   
Larry Lance's hand. There was a black rat, the largest of them   
all that was seriously wounded but still alive, Jim Gordon was   
standing near it, but either didn't notice the dying rodent or   
just didn't care because of his relief at finding the couple in   
fairly good shape.  
  
In the shattered doorway stood Jim Corrigan's colleagues: Arthur   
O'Hara, once Gordon's right hand man on the squad, the rotund and   
balding older detective was recently appointed to the position of   
Chief of Police by the Mayor after his heroic capture of a group   
of kidnappers who had terrified the entire Robinson District with   
their crimes. The tough as nails Irish cop, who spoke with a   
thick Brogue, was still adjusting to his life as a high profile   
public figure. He was a quiet man who preferred actions over   
words and when Corrigan's call came into the station, he tagged   
along as if he had never left the squad.  
  
On O'Hara's heels was Harvey Bullock, a disheveled looking fat man   
in a rumpled suit. There were still remnants of a slice of pie   
and coffee on his shirt from breakfast and his unshaven chin   
actually looked more like a thick sheath of grime than stubble.   
Bullock was sloppy as far as his personal habits went, but as far   
as his professional life was concerned, he wasn't on the streets   
to win a beauty contest; he was there to do his job as a cop.   
  
Bullock was rough and rude. He was Gordon's ideal point man when   
he needed to intimidate some felon with a strong armed bruiser.   
Truth be told, Bullock owed his career to Gordon, who had reformed   
him from a cop who used a rubber hose to beat confessions out of   
crooks as opposed to the letter of the law. Gordon took Bullock   
into the squad after a controversial case which involved the   
unexplained death of a city councilman's son who was accused of   
brutally raping a twelve year old girl. The young man was in   
Bullock's custody when he died and people familiar with Bullock's   
methods were quick to set him up as the scapegoat. While Bullock   
was eventually cleared of any wrongdoing, no department on the   
force wanted to touch him until Gordon offered the man a slot on   
the squad. Bullock's gratitude showed in his fierce loyalty to   
Gordon, he was always ready and willing to do whatever was asked   
of him, but wasn't afraid to voice his opinions and objections.   
  
Frank Merkel shoved his way past the two stocky officers and   
surveyed the scene. "Jesus, Lance! Did you at least read them   
their rights?!", roared the runty detective. Some of the men on   
the squad chuckled softly at Merkel's comment and Lance sheepishly   
holstered his gun. Clarice found it hard to believe that someone   
would find the present situation funny, but Jim had told her about   
Merkel's somewhat odd sense of gallows humor some time ago, it was   
his safety valve against some of the horrors that Gotham kept   
hidden in the shadows of her streets.   
  
Merkel was followed by a uniformed officer, Donald Daniel   
Richards, known by his middle name Dan. Dan Richards was a   
strawberry blond with an athletic build that showed even through   
his police uniform. He was a good officer who tried to give his   
best all the time. Despite finishing at the bottom of his class   
at the academy, Dan had persevered and risen through the ranks of   
the force with distinction. O'Hara had taken a liking to the man   
and made him his assistant when he was made Chief.   
  
Eager to please and driven to prove himself, Richards took on his   
new duties with no small measure of enthusiasm. When he entered   
the room, Clarice was amazed how much he resembled Jim, they could   
almost pass for brothers. She wondered if this is what Jim looked   
like when he was younger and walked a beat. Richards tipped his   
hat politely when she and Jim came into his line of vision and   
smiled. "Glad to see you two are okay."  
  
"I told you kid, Jimmy Corrigan's the hardest man in the world to   
kill." In through the doorway strode Inspector Harvey Harris, one   
of the Gotham PD's living legends. Harris was considered one of   
the best of the best by his brother officers, a man who had made a   
name for himself long before most of the men he currently served   
with on the squad were old enough to shave. He was as tall as his   
one of his reputation would be expected to be and stood nearly a   
head taller than the other men in the room. Harris had a   
formidably full head of steel gray hair, and though his face was   
weathered with wrinkles, he looked at least twenty years younger   
than the sixty two years he constantly boasted to be.   
  
Harris was a no nonsense kind of cop, he wore no hat or top coat   
like most of the men he accompanied, he was always of the opinion   
that if it wasn't raining or snowing, all the extra clothing was   
just dead weight that you'd have to get rid of when you're chasing   
down some hop head or gunner. His navy blue suit jacket was   
unbuttoned, allowing the detective quick access to his gun in his   
shoulder holster or the belt holster tucked into the small of his   
back. Harris believed in being prepared and even in the calm   
aftermath of Jim and Clarice's safe return, Harris kept a   
practiced eye on the closet doors and windows just in case someone   
was laying low for an ambush.  
  
Gordon walked over to Jim Corrigan and placed a hand on his   
shoulder. "Corrigan, where's Gat Benson and why the hell didn't   
you report in when you got away from him the first time?"  
  
Clarice noticed an odd expression pass over Jim's face for a   
moment and it ended with an even odder smile. "I didn't want to   
take any chance that Benson would hurt Clarice, Lieutenant. He   
thought he had killed me out at the waterfront, so I let him   
believe that while I tracked him down. If I told you too soon he   
might've gotten wise to the whole thing and tried to pull a fast   
one." Jim looked at the dying rats on the floor and added, "As   
for where Benson and his boys are now, I'm sure they're nearby and   
will turn up soon."  
  
Harvey Harris heartily slapped Jim on the back. "Hah! That's   
probably why those mugs ain't here! They probably saw Jimmy   
coming into the building and thought his ghost was comin' back to   
get them!"  
  
"It probably was something like that!" echoed Bullock. "Those   
rats saw ol' Jimmy here and ran off to hide in another hole   
somewhere!" Bullock smiled widely at the couple, "Ol' 'Spooky'   
Corrigan, Ghost Detective can bring 'em down without firin' a shot   
now!"  
  
Gordon looked the room over, perplexed. "It doesn't add up   
though. Benson's a tough customer and he was on the lam, I don't   
understand why he didn't take Miss Winston when he left. She'd   
have been more valuable to him as a hostage or if he left her   
behind, he'd have no reason to leave her alive if she could tie   
him to your attempted murder Corrigan."  
  
Bullock looked the large black rat dying on the filthy floor with   
disgust, "Does it matter, Lieutenant? Gat left behind his   
relatives here didn't he? Maybe he decided to throw in the towel   
and leave town." Bullock raised his huge shoe off the ground and   
stomped on the dying rodent, crushing it and ending its misery.   
To Clarice, the rat's death cry sounded almost human, familiar   
somehow, though she couldn't figure out why.   
  
"Besides", Bullock continued, "with all the mugs out looking for   
Gat to collect on that bounty, when we do find him, he'll probably   
be as dead as my new friend that I'm wiping off my shoe here."  
  
"You know Bullock", Corrigan said quietly, "I wouldn't be at all   
surprised if that rat got what was coming to him already."   
Clarice felt Jim pull her a little closer, "Come on sweetheart,   
let's get you home."  
  
As the detectives escorted the pair out of the building and into   
the dawn of a new day Clarice began to forget about her ordeal.   
Jim was with her again, and everything was right with the world.  
  
And upstairs, in the building itself, the rays of the sun revealed   
something that would not be discovered for another few days, the   
terribly mutilated corpses of Gat Benson and his gang. The boys   
at the morgue would be at a loss to explain what exactly had   
managed to cave in almost half of Gat's body with one clean   
stroke...  
  
*****************************************************  
  
TEN: "HE FLOATS THROUGH THE AIR..."  
  
HALY'S CIRCUS OF THRILLS, GOTHAM FAIRGROUNDS, DECEMBER 20, 1938...  
  
"Pop" Haly crumpled under another vicious blow and felt his knees   
give way underneath him. He didn't gain any relief or refuge by   
falling to the floor though, Cowboy, an enforcer for Fat Tony   
Zucco, kept the plump, aging circus owner on his feet by holding   
onto to Haly's collar with his powerful left hand. Cowboy's right   
hand seemed more than capable of administering a wealth of   
punishment on its own. The Cowboy took a great delight in his   
work, and if he could stretch out the "lesson" he was ordered to   
give to Haly, so much the better, after all he needed to stay in   
practice.  
  
"You should've listened to Mister Zucco, Haly.", Cowboy grunted as   
he sent another crushing blow to Haly's midsection. The older   
man's legs collapsed from under him once again, but once more,   
Cowboy's strength asserted itself, keeping Haly from falling. "He   
wants the protection money and--" Another solid blow lifted Haly   
off of the floor and slammed him into the unyielding wall of his   
trailer. His glasses flew from the bridge of his nose and skipped   
merrily across the floor until they were stopped by an overturned   
chair. "--maybe he wants this flea bitten show of yours too."  
  
Cowboy was enjoying himself too much to notice the young man who   
stood outside Haly's trailer, drawn in by the commotion. Taking a   
deep breath, Dick Grayson walked up to the door of the trailer and   
knocked loudly. The noises that attracted Dick came to an end   
with a sudden thump. Dick knocked again, this time yelling at the   
unopened door, hoping that Pop Haly was okay. "Pop? Hey Pop it's   
Dick! Is anything wr--"  
  
Before Dick could complete the question, the door opened slowly   
and Haly's slightly hunched form filled the doorway. The door was   
open wide enough for Dick to see a hard faced man in a cowboy's   
hat standing behind Haly. The cowboy had massive shoulders,   
though not as big as Freddy Atlas the circus strongman. The   
cowboy stood dangerously close to Haly and from the look on Pop   
Haly's face, an odd mixture of fear and relief, Dick knew   
something wasn't right.  
  
Haly ruffled the boy's hair, "Dicky! Aren't you supposed to be   
getting back to your trailer? We've got a big show later on, son   
and you need to get some rest before tonight."  
  
"I was on my way there, Pop," Dick answered, "but I heard some   
funny noises coming from over here and I wanted to be sure nothing   
was wrong."  
  
Haly attempted a reassuring smile, but the pain of his recent   
beating made the end result look more like a grimace. "No Dick,   
everything's fine. My friend Cowboy and I were having a little   
discussion, that's all. You run along now." Haly's performance   
might have been a little more convincing if Dick hadn't noticed a   
fresh trickle of blood starting to form at the edge of Haly's lip.   
Still Dick decided to back off as he noticed Cowboy's growing   
agitation at his presence.  
  
"Well okay, Pop, if you're sure."  
  
"Sure I'm sure, Dicky! Now leave us grown ups to our business."   
The trickle began to run off Haly's lips and he started to pull   
the door closed.  
  
"Well okay, Pop, see you around." Dick Grayson's steps pounded   
down the trailer stairs and faded into the night.  
  
As soon as the door closed, Cowboy stepped up close to Haly and   
stabbed a powerful finger into Haly's still heaving chest. "Like   
I was sayin', I got a feelin' that if you don't get in touch with   
Mister Zucco soon to clear up your account, something bad may   
happen to help you change your mind." Cowboy smiled showing his   
yellowed teeth, "If you don't want anything to happen, get in   
touch with Zucco over at Oxey's pronto."  
  
Cowboy headed for the door of the trailer, roughly shoving Haly   
out of the way. "Just don't make him wait too long, Pop. In   
fact, if I was you, I'd git on over there 'fore tonight's show.   
You'll save yourself a lot of grief and probably keep your   
performers from havin' any accidents, if you catch my drift."   
  
Cowboy stalked out of the trailer, leaving Haly to consider his   
warning. As soon as Haly could no longer hear the bruiser's boots   
crunching along the gravel, he sank to the floor and sobbed.   
There was no way he could get that kind of money together in time,   
The circus had been steadily losing money for some time because of   
the fall season and the upcoming winter months, they'd gotten   
lucky that Gotham was experiencing mild weather so far making this   
show possible, but they were far from being in the black   
financially.   
  
Haly had to find a way to stall Zucco, a way to make him see that   
there was no way they could afford to pay this time. Still Haly   
knew that even that would be a fruitless decision, Zucco was known   
for making an example out of those who couldn't pay for   
protection. The realization made Haly cry even harder as the aches   
and pains he experienced now would be nothing compared to what   
Zucco was going to do later.  
  
And neither Cowboy nor Haly noticed the silent, crouching form of   
Dick Grayson who had heard everything in the last few minutes from   
his hiding place underneath the trailer. Dick left his place of   
concealment with the sound of Haly's mournful tears accompanying   
him all the way back to the trailer he shared with his parents.  
  
****************  
  
"TELL ME WHAT I WANT TO KNOW!", the voice hissed harshly into his   
ear, "Where is Tony Zucco?!"  
  
Lefty Blake had never been in a situation like this one before.   
At some point in the early dawn, he was roughly dragged out of   
bed. Mabel began to scream, but a sharp crack, like glass   
breaking, was heard from inside the shadows of their bedroom and   
she stopped as suddenly as she started. Another crack removed   
Lefty from his sudden waking into a world of blackness as he was   
returned to a deep sleep. When Lefty awoke, he realized that he   
couldn't see, his eyes were covered by a blindfold. Lefty tried   
to move his hands, but found them secured tightly behind his back.   
Lefty's feet were similarly bound and he found that he couldn't   
rise from the sitting position he knew he was in. Besides the   
voice in his ears, Lefty was aware of the roar of the wind, a   
sensation which left the little felon a bit unnerved for some   
reason.  
  
"I told you," Lefty said to the disembodied voice, "I don't know   
where Zucco is! Even if I did know something, I sure in the hell   
ain't telling some mug who has me blindfolded and trussed up like   
a turkey!"  
  
"You might want to reconsider.", the voice said coldly, "I know   
that you're one of Zucco's money men and that you're still moving   
cash into Gotham for him. It would be to your advantage to tell   
me what I want to know."  
  
"No way!" Lefty shouted back, "Zucco might kill me!"  
  
"You're right," the voice replied, "Zucco might kill you if you do   
talk--" Lefty felt his blindfold loosening slightly, soon he'd   
know what the hell was going on and who was responsible for this.   
As soon as he was loose, he was going to make this guy pay for it   
too. "--but if you don't talk, I'll definitely kill you."   
  
The blindfold was torn away and Lefty found himself staring into   
the cold gaze of a masked man who had become all too familiar to   
Gotham's criminal class of late. Even in the light of the rising   
sun, the man was still a fearsome sight. The man was like a piece   
of living shadow, he stood upon the vast emptiness of a rooftop   
almost looming over Lefty. His cape whipped in the wind, flowing   
behind him like great leathery wings, powerful arms held Lefty in   
an iron grip, and the bat emblem on his chest left little doubt in   
Lefty's mind as to who he was facing.  
  
"Y-y-you're the Batman!", Lefty gulped, to his credit, the little   
crook didn't lose bladder control or start whimpering   
uncontrollably. He did however abandon the notion of getting even   
with the masked man.  
  
"Zucco.", the Batman spat, "Where IS he?!"  
  
"I'm telling you," Lefty whined, "I don't know where he is!"  
  
"Fine. Have it your way." With that the Dark Knight snatched the   
little man up and pitched him off of the roof and into space.   
Lefty screamed like a girl as he began to fall but the wind   
whistled loudly enough to drown it all out. Lefty knew he was   
doomed, he knew he was going to die and he knew if he had the   
chance to do this over, he would've told the Batman what little he   
knew gladly. That was when the little man's fall came to an   
abrupt halt with a slight jerk. Lefty's eyes, which were clamped   
shut the second he went over the ledge, opened slowly and the   
sight that greeted him would've been breathtaking under different   
circumstances. All of Gotham lay before Lefty, spread out like   
some intricately patterned carpet. He could see the spires of   
towers and the rooftops of hundreds of buildings from downtown all   
the way out to the waterfront. For a few seconds, Lefty was   
awestruck by the largeness of the city below, he couldn't believe   
how high up he was. Realizing that his fall had stopped for some   
reason, Lefty craned his neck to look upwards at the roof to see   
what was keeping him in the air. The sight that greeted Lefty,   
however drove a new concern to the forefront of the little man's   
mind.  
  
The Batman seemed to float down from the rooftop above, his great   
cape seeming to blot out everything except the halo of sunlight   
that dared to peek over his shoulders. This eerie glow of red   
gold light only added to the menace of the masked madman who just   
tried to kill Lefty. Slowly, the masked man drifted down and came   
to a soft halt a few inches above. In the Batman's hand was a   
large knife which caught the rays of the morning sun on its edge.   
"I can promise you," the Batman said, "that if I don't hear   
something that leads me to Zucco, the next thing that will stop   
your fall will be the concrete."  
  
For the next few minutes, Lefty told the Batman all about Zucco's   
new plan to get protection money out of the vendors and shows   
setting up for the Winter Carnival. Zucco was having trouble   
collecting from one show in particular and the crimeboss had sent   
in one of his enforcers to either get the cash or make an example   
out of the show for others who may decide not to pay.  
  
"Which show?" Batman asked.  
  
"Haly's Circus!" screamed Lefty, "I swear, that's all I know! Now   
let me down from here!"  
  
"If you insist." the Batman said, brandishing the knife and   
bringing it closer to the rope. At that point Lefty fainted,   
saving the Batman any further dramatics before he would've gassed   
the man and pulled him up anyway. As the Batman began to haul the   
man up to a nearby open window, he silently patted himself on the   
back for planting miniature wire recorders at Murray's the other   
night. The conversations that were on that tape prior to his   
arrival led him to Lefty and hopefully, would now lead to the   
capture of Tony Zucco.  
  
****************  
  
Julie Madison was starting to become bored as she sat outside of   
Bruce's private office. She woke this morning to find both Bruce   
and Alfred gone, with a note saying Bruce had to go into the   
office to tie up some business and that he would meet her for   
breakfast at his office around eight. Bruce's secretary, was not   
at the desk when she arrived and after waiting a full half hour,   
Julie tried the door only to find it locked. She was considering   
possibly knocking at the door when Alfred walked into the waiting   
area.   
  
"I wouldn't do that if I were you Miss Madison, Master Bruce is   
engaged in a rather urgent conference and you would probably   
disturb him at a critical moment."  
  
"Alfred!" Julie said, whirling around to face Wayne's butler, "Why   
on earth did Bruce leave so early this morning?"  
  
"Master Bruce tends to keep very odd hours, Miss Madison." Alfred   
answered. "The person he needed to speak with was only available   
for a conference with Mister Wayne at this hour."  
  
  
"Well what kind of conference could one possibly have at dawn?"   
Julie's tone was one of minor annoyance, she had grown used to   
sleeping in after a long night of rehearsals when she was in New   
York, being around a man who rarely slept was a little   
disorienting.  
  
"A profitable one, my dear." answered Bruce Wayne as he stepped   
out of his office. "Julie darling, you look absolutely radiant   
this morning!" Before Julie could reply, Bruce swept her into his   
arms and kissed her passionately, Alfred maintained the proper air   
of neutral disinterest. Eventually the couple broke their embrace   
and Bruce smoothed the lapels of his gray flannel suit jacket.  
  
"I trust all went well with your conference, Bruce." Julie was a   
little breathless from Bruce's enthusiastic greeting. Alfred   
noted, with mild amusement, that Julie's annoyance seemed to have   
been momentarily forgotten.  
  
"I got exactly what I needed from my contact, Julie." Bruce   
answered beaming, "Beastly thing, business, it keeps a man from   
enjoying a regular schedule or taking in proper nutrition. In   
fact, the whole thing's left me rather starved!" Looking over at   
Julie, Bruce seemed to arrive at a sudden decision. "Julie, we'll   
breakfast over at Kirby Terrace, the place is a classic when it   
comes to the fare and the views of the city. It's a little early,   
but I'm sure Jack can accommodate us without too much trouble."  
  
"Shall I bring the car around for you and Miss Madison, Master   
Bruce?" Alfred asked quietly.  
  
"No Alfred, I think Miss Madison and I will walk, it's just across   
the park." Bruce turned with his bright smile still in place,   
"It's a beautiful morning for it! Shall we, sweetheart?"  
  
Julie was all smiles as she took Bruce's arm, "That sounds like a   
wonderful idea Bruce." She looked over at Alfred, "Will you be   
joining us Alfred?"  
  
Before the butler could answer, Bruce cut in, "Oh Julie, I'm   
afraid I promised my business associate that Alfred would give him   
a ride back to his home." Bruce and Alfred exchanged a knowing   
look, "you don't mind do you Alfred, Mister Blake will be out in a   
few minutes, he's just gathering up some papers."  
  
"Of course sir." Alfred responded politely.  
  
"Ah Alfred, I knew I could count on you. Well come along, Julie   
we should be off." before Julie could comment any further, Bruce   
hustled her off to the elevator.   
  
As soon as the couple left, Alfred stepped into Wayne's office to   
find Lefty Blake tied up and blindfolded. Two white envelopes were   
sitting on the little man's chest, one clearly marked   
"instructions", the other bore a seal that resembled a bat.   
Alfred walked over to the massive bookcase that was behind Wayne's   
desk and depressed a hidden switch. The bookcase opened forward   
slightly and behind it was a hidden service elevator. With some   
effort, Alfred managed to drag the little crook into the elevator   
car. Closing the gate, Alfred pressed the down button and the car   
began to go move. As it dropped towards the floors below, the   
bookcase slid back into place with a nearly inaudible click.   
Wayne's office showed no evidence that it had been entered at all,   
much less that the room had been used by Wayne to abandon his   
guise as the Batman.  
  
****************  
  
Fifteen minutes later, Gotham Police Precinct House Number Four   
was the site of an unusual delivery. A black coupe shattered the   
still morning with squealing tires as it rounded the corner. The   
officers and citizens on the steps were surprised that some maniac   
would pull this so close to the station house, but they were even   
more surprised when the car slowed down long enough to eject a   
body from the passenger's side of the car. As the still form hit   
the street, the coupe shot off again before anyone could react.   
Still everyone who saw it happen was certain of one thing, the   
shadowy occupant of the car was none other than the Batman.  
  
Two officers rushed over to the body and examined it. "He's not   
dead! Somebody call a doctor!"  
  
"Hey what's this?" One of the policemen removed an envelope   
pinned to the man's chest and opened it. The paper inside held a   
brief typewritten message:  
  
"TONY ZUCCO IS NEXT."   
  
The scrawl underneath was a crude drawing in the shape of a bat.  
  
Inside the coupe, the masked man removed his cowl. The face   
underneath was not the rugged, handsome features of Bruce Wayne   
but those of Alfred Pennyworth. The older man rubbed his shoulder   
as he continued to drive, "I've probably given myself a bloody   
hernia.", Alfred said aloud to himself. For a moment he allowed   
himself to give into pain of the strained muscle a slight wince,   
before steeling himself for the return trip to the Wayne   
Foundation.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
INTERLUDE  
  
GOTHAM GENERAL HOSPITAL, DECEMBER 20, 1938  
  
Terrance Temple woke with a start. In the hazy grayness of his   
room he could see sunlight weakly streaming into the room between   
the slats of the blinds. His throat felt dry and scratchy, but he   
was relieved to find that he was in bed, the victim of an obvious   
nightmare. He tried to move, but found he could not. Something   
outside of his field of vision prevented him from moving.   
Terrance tried to shout for one of the staff, but could only   
mumble, his jaw was immobile as if...  
  
Terrance lay in his bed, stunned. This could not be happening,   
this did not happen. His thoughts desperately raced over the last   
moments he remembered, he tried to stop the theft of his house   
only to find that the thief was someone he thought long destroyed,   
his former wife Selina Kyle. She attacked him, screaming and   
shouting, pounding him with a ferocity she never showed in their   
many fights while they were married. Terrance remembered her   
whispered threats and every blow she inflicted upon him. Though   
he knew he was unable to move, Temple struggled desperately to   
rise, to prove that what had happened was nothing more than   
bourbon induced nightmares from hearing the house settle or that   
damned cat who ran around the house still searching for the woman   
he threw out like so much trash. Yet the iron grip of his   
restraints told him otherwise, they held onto him as if he were a   
butterfly pinned to a card for display.  
  
"Ah," said a voice somewhere in the room, "I see you're finally   
back among the living."  
  
Terrance started at the sound of the voice, but calmed himself, it   
was a man's voice, not Selina's. he tried to raise his head, see   
if he could find out where the phantom voice was coming from, but   
the gloom prevented Terrance from seeing anything beyond a vague   
outline that sat just beyond the window.  
  
"Now, now Mister Temple," the voice cautioned liked a doting   
father, "you mustn't overtax yourself. Your condition is still   
pretty serious, if you're not careful, something dreadful might   
happen to you."  
  
Terrance was now slightly confused. His eyes had adjusted to the   
light enough to discern that he wasn't in his bedroom, not even in   
his home if the sparse furnishings were any indication. Where was   
he? Who was this stranger in the room with him? What happened to   
Selina?  
  
Terrance's agitation must have been obvious to the man in the room   
with him, because the man made a shushing noise and began to   
speak. "Mister Temple I know this is all very confusing, but let   
me see if I can clear the matter up a little. You were found by   
your guards after a rather successful little robbery. They   
assumed that you ran afoul of the burglar and paid for it dearly.   
They knew that you would not want such a thing to be made public,   
so they called Doctor Ravanaugh, your personal physician, who   
promptly had you moved to a private sanitarium where he could tend   
you without undue publicity."  
  
The voice stopped for a moment, a whisper of movement was followed   
by a gulping noise, the man had stopped to take a drink. The   
faint thump of the glass being set down verified Terrance's guess.   
"Well when you were brought in, you were raving. It had been   
assumed that you had gone quite mad, hence your restraints. You   
were sedated and left to sleep while your jaw was wired shut and   
your injuries were attended to. It was touch and go for a while   
there, old boy, you were listed in serious but stable condition."  
  
Another drink interrupted the man's narrative. Terrance couldn't   
believe that Selina had done this to him. She had nearly killed   
him! Something within him became a cold, hard stone in the pit of   
his stomach, Selina was going to pay for this and he was going to   
have the pleasure of administering the killing stroke personally.  
  
"Mister Temple", the voice said, "I'm curious, just what happened   
to you? Can you identify who did this to you?"  
  
Terrance managed to nod a painful yes to the man's question. His   
mind was set on revenge, this man in the gloom would serve as the   
first stone in the avalanche of misery Terrance would bring to   
Selina's life. Once this man knew what happened, the police would   
be notified and Selina would be hunted down like a dog. Mentally   
Terrance was already celebrating his victory and imagining   
Selina's destruction.  
  
"Well if I loosen the restraints on your wrists, could you write   
it out?"  
  
A written statement! Terrance had picked his tool well without   
even trying, his written statement would carry far more weight   
with the law than just a vague idea of what happened the other   
night. The man loosened the wrist restraints and provided   
Terrance with a pad and paper. Terrance still couldn't get a   
clear look at the man, the gloom obstructed his features, but he   
did notice that the man had dark hair.   
  
"I'll open the blinds so you can have a little more light. When   
you're done, just tap on the pad, I'll be over in the corner   
reading the paper."  
  
For Terrance, the room brightened a little bit and he was able to   
clearly see the pad he held. As he began to write down his   
account of the night, Terrance tried to get a better look at the   
man who he supposed was a room attendant for the hospital's more   
prominent patients, but was foiled by the newspaper which the man   
held high. Even without the paper, Terrance would still have been   
hard pressed because of the way the light came into the room. His   
mysterious benefactor's face would have simply been hidden in a   
shadowy silhouette.   
  
After thirty minutes or so, Terrance had finished. Terrance's   
muscles had gone unused while he was sedated and his effort at   
writing had left him more than a little exhausted. Weakly, he   
tapped the pad, indicating he had completed his task. The man   
stirred from behind the newspaper.  
  
"Are we all finished?" The man asked politely, "Well let's see   
what we've got here." The man read for a few moments as if he   
were grading Terrance's account for correct spelling. The man   
shook his head at some parts and uttered an "Oh my" or two when   
the mood struck him and after a while, he set the pages down.  
  
"All of this is true?" asked the shadowy stranger.  
  
Terrance nodded yes, but paid for it with a wave of nausea. He   
was more fatigued than he thought and as he settled into the   
pillows, Terrance felt as if he could sleep for the rest of his   
life. It had to be the drugs on top of the lack of exercise,   
Terrance reasoned to himself. He still felt woozy.  
  
"So now what?" Terrance heard the man ask. "I mean what do you   
want me to do with it?"  
  
Irritation began to cut into Terrance's mood towards this man. He   
snatched the pad away, found a clean sheet of paper and wrote   
furiously. When he was done, Terrance handed back the pad back to   
his attendant so he could read the new message.  
  
The man read the second note carefully. "I can understand calling   
the police, Mister Temple, but who is Harry Lime and why should he   
want to take care of your wife for you?"  
  
Terrance felt more than a little outraged at the man, he was used   
to people blindly following the instructions they were given   
without question. The attendant seemed reluctant to move on this   
information, which should have been reason enough to summon the   
police. Still, Terrance calmed himself and took the pad from the   
man once more and added that Lime was an agent in his employ and   
would be the best person to find Miss Kyle. Terrance handed the   
pad back to the man and waited for this new note's information to   
be digested.  
  
"You've had a rather rough time, Mister Temple," the man said   
quietly, "and I'd really like to help you find Mister Lime but   
there's just one problem." Terrance was confused now, he knew   
something was wrong, something about this man had changed. His   
voice had taken on a richer, familiar quality, Terrnace tried to   
cut through the dull cloud that hindered his senses to identify   
who was in the room with him. The man was casually padding   
through his pockets, looking for something. The padding stopped   
followed by a rustle that sounded like a package being opened.  
  
"Cigarette, old boy?" The voice asked amiably. "Oh wait that   
could be rather difficult with your mouth all wired up like that."   
The thought was followed by a soft chuckle, "I suppose the old   
adage is true in your case, old boy. 'Hell hath no fury' and all   
that. Anyway, as I was saying, I'd love to help you out except   
for one thing--", a match was struck and Terrance's eyes followed   
the glowing ember as it migrated from the matchbox to the end of   
the cigarette that was held between the man's lips. For the   
briefest of moments, the man's face was revealed and Terrance   
didn't know whether to be happy or deathly afraid. "-- I no longer   
work for you."  
  
Harry Lime smiled down at Terrance Temple as he shook the match   
out. Terrance tried to raise his arms but they were like lead, he   
was too tired to do anything in the way of defending himself.   
Terrance lay in his bed and waited. He waited for Harry to finish   
playing whatever angle he was going to play.  
  
"See Terrance, the papers you had on me are now safely in my   
possession. Selina is really quite good at burglary and when she   
stole the papers she needed to invalidate your control over her   
fortune, she also brought back all the other important papers you   
kept hidden away. I mean really, old boy, you should trust a   
safety deposit box in a bank. That's much harder to crack than a   
private residence with subpar security."  
  
Harry took a drag from his cigarette and continued to talk.   
"Selina's running into you was just a stroke of bad luck. She had   
arranged the job at a time when she thought you'd be away, but her   
enthusiastic reunion with you solved the problem pretty well. As   
far as the public at large is concerned, you took a fall and hit   
your head, resulting in a coma that you may not survive. Selina's   
already of the opinion that she has accidentally killed you."  
  
Harry stopped long enough to take another drag. "You should have   
seen the poor girl, she was out of sorts for at least a day or   
two. The police came by to interview her, just to be sure there   
wasn't any foul play involved, but she's not a suspect since I   
provided her with an iron clad alibi. See Terrance, when you   
asked me to insure your wife's downfall, I thought she was like   
those other vapid cows you had associated yourself with. In fact   
if it wasn't for her coincidental meeting with my old friend Holly   
Martins, I might have completed your request without ever knowing   
the woman. Meeting her gave me a different perspective on her, a   
certain respect for her and coupled with my utter dislike for you,   
it made it easy to decide what I would do next."  
  
Harry moved closer to Terrance's horrified face. "You held my   
past indiscretions over my head, so it seemed only fair to get   
even by using one of yours as my tool. Selina was ideal and she   
hated you, quite possibly even more than I. A couple of months of   
training and she was more than ready to crack any safe this side   
of Gotham. Her biggest fear was, besides possibly killing you,   
what would happen if you did recover. Would you tell or wouldn't   
you?" Harry regarded the pad he held for a moment, "Seems like   
you would. You look a little uncomfortable Terrance, let me fix   
that pillow for you." Harry picked up a spare pillow that rested   
on a nearby shelf and began to fluff it.  
  
"The thing is Terrance, that you've made a lot of enemies, you've   
blackmailed people to do your bidding like me, with the proof you   
had of a minor infraction I committed in sending some possibly   
diluted penicillin overseas for sale on the black market, or poor   
Doctor Ravanaugh, who I personally think has more than paid for   
doing you the favor of 'accidentally' prescribing the wrong pills   
to your dearly departed father. In fact," another long drag   
interrupted Harry's thought, "he was the one who was kind enough   
to let me stay here and monitor your progress."   
  
Terrance's eyes searched the room wildly for a call button or a   
phone something he could use to summon help, but there was nothing   
visible that offered salvation. "Even Selina," Harry continued,   
"the last in a long line of women you influenced and abused with   
your wealth and power was prepared to kill you if she had to in   
order to be free of you." Harry reached over Terrance and picked   
up the glass of water, he took a quick sip from the glass and   
returned it to the table. "Luckily, old boy, she doesn't have to   
concern herself over such things now that you've pulled through.   
Still I'm sure she feel a lot better knowing that you'll forgive   
her and let this whole matter drop." Harry leaned in closer, "You   
DO forgive Selina for her part in all this, don't you Terrance?"  
  
Terrance nodded slowly, at a loss to do anything else but agree   
with Harry as he leaned over him.  
  
"Oh that's wonderful, old boy." Harry actually smiled at Terrance   
as he raised the pillow and brought it down on Terrance's face.   
"I'll be sure to tell her that when I bring her the tragic news of   
your passing." Terrance tried to struggle, but it was no use.   
The combination of his exertions and drugged state left Terrance   
too limp to resist Harry's assault. After the space of seven or   
eight minutes, Harry rose up and settled the pillow gently under   
the corpse once known as Terrance Temple. Harry regarded the dead   
man for a moment, his face was almost apologetic.   
  
"I hope, old boy, that I am never betrayed as you have been."   
Harry stabbed out his cigarette, "I may have enemies, but I doubt   
that I shall ever be without a friend at my side when my time   
comes. Then again, I intend to die a very old man rich off the   
fruits of my labors Terrance, something I suppose you'll never   
know about. Still, old boy, I salute you. If a man's worth could   
be measured by his enemies, you were priceless." Harry started   
for the door.  
  
"I suppose Doctor Ravanaugh can chalk this one up to 'natural   
causes'. Yes that will do nicely."  
  
And with that, Harry Lime left the cooling body of Terrance Temple   
in the warm glow of the afternoon sun.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
ELEVEN: "WITH THE GREATEST OF EASE..."  
  
WAYNE MANOR, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 20, 1938, DUSK...  
  
"The Winter Carnival?! Tonight?!", Julie Madison said   
flabbergasted. She was dressed in a stunning midnight blue silk   
evening gown with matching arm's length gloves. "Why did you make   
plans to go to the Carnival tonight of all nights, Bruce? I   
thought we had planned to go to Sandra Knight's party!"  
  
Bruce stood sheepishly in front of his enraged fiancŽe, trying his   
best to pacify Julie with a calm tone, "Now Julie, I had simply   
forgotten about my commitment to the Carnival until I called into   
the office this afternoon." Bruce shrugged his shoulders   
apologetically, "I really can't get out of it, honey."  
  
"But Bruce," Julie said irritably, "everyone who's anyone will be   
at this party tonight. Can't you show up to the circus later on   
in the evening?"  
  
"Well I can try, dear," Bruce said earnestly, "but I have to at   
least make the rounds and show up to a few events and exhibits.   
There's even supposed to be a circus there. I--"  
  
"A CIRCUS?!!", Julie nearly roared, "We could be dancing the night   
away with Gotham's high society and you want to go to a circus?!"  
  
Bruce sighed, "I am sorry dear, but I have a responsibility to the   
Carnival."  
  
"Bruce," Julie answered coldly, "I'm getting tired of your   
'responsibilities' already." She snatched up her coat and purse   
and stormed for the door. "If you want to go to the circus Bruce,   
find someone else to go with you. I'm going to Sandra's party."   
Before Bruce could say anything else, Julie slammed the door and   
headed for the garage. Moments later, Bruce could hear one of his   
roadsters swerving onto the driveway, heading for the gate.  
  
"Well sir," Alfred said entering the room from the opposite door,   
"it would appear that you've managed to free up your evening for   
more reckless pursuits. Shall I break out your evening wear with   
matching bandages, or would you prefer to bleed all over the   
carpet?"  
  
Bruce was not amused and it showed as he moved past Alfred to the   
desk. "I'll need the car to be ready with a uniform near the   
Carnival's service entrance. There's a garage for vehicles in   
need of repair that I've managed to rent for the evening, I'll   
leave it there. Now to arrange for the proper escort." Bruce   
lifted the receiver of the phone and began to dial a number.   
  
"Escort?" Alfred queried with an upraised eyebrow. "I didn't   
realize that your tastes ran toward the tawdry, Master Bruce."  
  
"Don't be crude Alfred." Bruce answered sharply, "The woman is an   
associate of Batman's."  
  
"'An associate'?" Alfred had an expression of genuine surprise on   
his face. "The Batman has a girlfriend?" Alfred shook his head   
sadly, "Really sir that IS more than a little tawdry, don't you   
think? Does she know who the Batman is as well, or do you keep   
your masks on the whole time?"  
  
Alfred's sarcasm was not missed by Bruce but he was too busy   
covering the mouthpiece of the phone with his handkerchief to   
engage in further bantering with his butler. On the other end of   
the line, the phone began to ring...  
  
****************  
  
Dinah Drake was in the process of dressing when the phone rang.   
She had planned to go out for the evening, but anyone who saw the   
outfit that Dinah had chosen may have thought that she was headed   
to a costume party, or into something far more interesting than   
drinks at the Penguin Club. The fishnet stockings and blue   
leotard would probably be more at home in the lights of a chorus   
girl line, but the outfit was one Dinah had pulled together as   
part of a disguise to shield her from the underworld. She had   
only been out only once dressed in this costume, but she had   
already begun to leave a mark on the underworld of Gotham and   
formed an alliance with a fellow vigilante, the Batman.   
  
Gotham's masked manstalker was still a big mystery to Dinah.   
Though she didn't know who the Batman really was but she was   
convinced that the masked man had somehow managed to figure out   
who she was. That fact had made her fearful of the effectiveness   
of her disguise on one hand but it also had Dinah a little curious   
about who the Batman really was.  
  
The phone refused to stop ringing. Dinah walked over to the small   
night stand and picked up the receiver.  
  
"Hello?", Dinah hoped this wasn't one of her father's old friends   
planning to stop by to see how she was bearing up after her   
father's death.  
  
"Good evening, Miss Drake.", the voice said softly on the other   
end of the connection. "Are you busy this evening?"  
  
"Who is this?", Dinah asked warily.  
  
"I'm hurt Miss Drake," the voice replied, "we've met on three   
separate occasions already. I figure a man dressed up like a   
large bat would leave a more lasting impression."  
  
Dinah froze for a few moments before replying, "So let me get this   
straight, you're claiming that you're the Batman." Dinah then   
played her bluff, "Even if you are the Batman, your math is wrong.   
I've only met the Batman twice, not three times."  
  
A sigh softly preceded the voice's next statement. "I see, then   
you don't count our meeting at Murray's. I suppose that's because   
you were a blonde in a mask that time. Before you begin to   
protest Miss Drake, I don't have time to play games with you, I   
need the Black Canary's help tonight."  
  
"I'm listening.", Dinah answered flatly.  
  
"Good," the voice said, "here's what I want you to do..."  
  
****************  
  
The sweet smell of cotton candy permeated the air, it mingled with   
the earthy aroma of sawdust and kissed gently by buttery scent of   
popcorn. Haly's Circus of Thrills had been packed since sundown   
with pleasure seekers, the curious, children and those who were   
children at heart. Clowns capered, danced and did tricks to the   
delight of kids and their parents. Lions and tigers drew fearful,   
excited gasps and the elephants for all of their bulk, seemed to   
be as affectionate as puppies as they playfully pounded around the   
big top. Lights flashed and flared, explosions from fireworks and   
flash powder turned the night into day and banished away the   
approaching gloom of the night. There was, without a doubt, a   
sense of wonder at the marvels Pop Haly had put on display.  
  
Dinah Drake hadn't been to the circus for years, not since her   
mother passed away, but she always remembered being amazed at the   
sounds, the colors, the lights, the smells all of the random   
sensations that seemed to assault the senses. Dinah never knew a   
place could be so alive, so vibrant, so joyful.   
  
Unfortunately, having a good time wasn't on Dinah's schedule as   
she was escorted to her seat by her "date". The man who sat with   
her looked, sounded and even acted like Bruce Wayne. If it wasn't   
for the nearly invisible line of flesh colored putty that began   
just behind his jawbone before traveling over the bridge of his   
nose, the unusually low hairline that indicated a possible wig and   
the hint of pancake makeup on his collar, the man Dinah knew as   
the Batman could've easily passed himself off as Bruce. Given her   
attraction to the real Bruce Wayne, Dinah found it hard not to   
treat this "date" the pair was on as a lark. She found herself   
enjoying the show and the company. "Bruce" however managed to   
stay focused as they sat down in the grandstand.  
  
"Popcorn, my dear?", "Bruce" said in a rather vapid voice offering   
Dinah the bucket of fluffy, butter drenched popcorn, still warm   
from the popper. "And might I compliment you on your outfit, you   
wear it well." Dinah knew that the compliment was more towards   
her disguise which was to wear the upper part of her Black Canary   
costume, a blue silk Spanish hat with a veil to cover some of her   
face, her blonde wig was brushed to cover the left side of her   
face and resembled a look Veronica Lake wore once. A dark blue   
silk skirt and a moderate sized black leather bag completed the   
outfit. Dinah looked like the kind of woman a Bruce Wayne would   
be seen with, cool and elegant, even for the circus.  
  
"I wish I could say the same for you, friend." Dinah snapped   
back. "You seem a little disheveled. If you need to learn how to   
apply makeup, I can help. By the way, does Bruce Wayne know   
you're borrowing his face this evening?"  
  
"Wayne is irrelevant unless he shows up here and I have it on good   
authority he won't. Besides, I'll stand up to a cursory   
inspection which will suffice for our purposes." Dinah's companion   
replied confidently. "Now keep your eyes open for anything out of   
the ordinary."  
  
"We're at a circus," Dinah huffed in a quiet whisper,   
"EVERYTHING'S out of the ordinary!"  
  
"Then it shouldn't be hard to notice if some roustabout is out of   
place." Batman whispered back. "Zucco's protection racket   
thrives off of high profile 'accidents', so it could be anything   
from a berserk animal to a faulty tent spike. We have to be ready   
for anything."  
  
"Well I hope we can figure it out before someone gets hurt."   
Dinah responded gravely.  
  
"If we don't Canary, I promise that whomever does get hurt will be   
the last of Zucco's victims."  
  
****************  
  
He couldn't believe his luck! Bruce Wayne was in his sights and   
with one little squeeze, he'd finally get him. He didn't know who   
the blonde was, but it really didn't matter as long as she didn't   
get in the way of his shot.   
  
As he took careful aim, he relished the moment and had to time his   
shot with the ebb and flow of the crowd as they crossed into his   
field of vision. He still got the same thrill he would always get   
during a shoot, being able to catch someone unaware and to do his   
job quietly without attracting a lot of attention until later.   
His skill for stealth had gotten him out of a lot of tight spots   
before, but this was going to be a clean job.  
  
There! The perfect moment! He applied the slightest pressure   
with his finger and...  
  
...Paul Patton, ace freelance photographer, managed to get the   
perfect shot of Bruce Wayne and his new mystery girlfriend as they   
whispered to one another in the grandstand. He was pretty sure   
the Gotham Gazette would pay handsomely for the snapshot for the   
society page at the very least. Paul removed his hat and ran his   
fingers through his thick blonde hair, as he broke out a new roll   
of film, he realized he was long overdue for a decent haircut.   
  
Placing his hat back on his head, Paul wandered out of the back   
entrance of the tent and walked towards the exhibit hall to   
continue taking photos of the Carnival. The Gazette was already   
paying him to capture opening day, but he was glad he stuck his   
head into the tent when he recognized Wayne with the stunning   
blonde. Now if he could just get one of Gotham's resident   
mysterymen on film...  
  
****************  
  
The bar felt wrong.  
  
That was Dick Grayson's first thought as he watched his parents   
begin their routine. The rope didn't snap cleanly, it felt loose.   
Dick chalked it up to being uneasy about Pop Haly, he knew his   
father personally checked the rig before each show just to be on   
the safe side. Dick stood on the platform, with his best trouper   
smile and hoped that his mother and father would be ready to   
listen to him after the show was over. Dick had tried to say   
something earlier, but was always interrupted by one of the other   
performers or the hands. When the show was over, Dick's father   
was usually less frantic, and more willing to let Dick have his   
time and attention.  
  
The first scream snapped Dick's mind from its wandering and back   
into the tent. What greeted the young man's eyes was an   
unbelievable sight and for a moment, Dick thought he was dreaming.   
His mother and father seemed to hang in space long enough for Dick   
to put the facts together in his mind. He watched his father's   
line come apart, it didn't really snap or break loose, it simply   
disintegrated at a point just outside of his father's reach,   
sending John Grayson into space just as his momentum gave way to   
the pull of gravity. Mary Grayson tried to adjust her swing to   
catch her husband but realized too late that her trapeze bar was   
floating free as well, torn away from the rope by her sudden   
tugging and twisting. Dick watched them both sail past one   
another awkwardly, like a pair of amateurs, both looking back in   
horror at their son. Dick could see his father's lips moving, but   
the screams of the crowd below drowned out his words, Mary's eyes   
were filled with tears as she realized there was no way anyone   
could save them from what was about to happen. Dick hadn't   
realized until his feet touched the sawdust of the ground that he   
had followed them down, by sliding down the ladder. Still as he   
was pulled away from the scene by Billy Popeet, one of the circus   
roustabouts, Dick held onto the faint hope that his parents were   
going to get up and walk away from the fall.  
  
"Don't look Dicky. Don't look."  
  
Billy's words came too late, Dick had already seen too much. He   
saw the Cowboy just barely concealed in the shadows of the tent   
entrance, lighting a cigarette with a faint hint of a grin on his   
face. The expression Cowboy wore was one of a man who just got   
away with murder and knew he wouldn't be caught.  
  
Dick suddenly slipped free from Billy and ran out of the tent   
before anyone could stop him.   
  
"Dicky!" Billy shouted, "Dicky, come back here!" It was already   
too late, Dick though an incredible display of acrobatic skill and   
youthful agility managed to evade the few roustabouts who tried to   
grab him as he exited the Big Top.   
  
Dick tried to find Cowboy, but somehow the man had managed to slip   
away. Dick knew that he would find the killer and he silently   
swore that he would make Cowboy pay for murdering his parents, or   
die trying.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
INTERLUDE  
  
GOTHAM GRAND HOTEL, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 20, 1938  
  
The music was lively, champagne flowed freely, conversation and   
laughter filled the crowded penthouse suite rented by Sandra   
Knight like the gurgling of a brook. Gotham City's elite were at   
play here, people moved cautiously, never knowing where their next   
opportunity to climb a rung in the social ladder might come from.   
Everyone who was anyone seemed to be there, including Broadway's   
brightest rising star, Julie Madison, who would probably be   
considered the belle of the ball for the amount of attention she   
was getting.  
  
She was having a miserable time and had gone out onto the balcony   
to get some air.  
  
Julie thought that her storming off to the party would have Bruce   
hot on her heels, but he had yet to show up. She still couldn't   
believe that he would stand her up for an evening at the circus.   
Maybe she should have gone with him, but it was a matter of   
principle now, Bruce knew how much she was looking forward to   
spending time with him and Julie couldn't understand why he was so   
aloof. In college he had been passionate, he pursued her quietly,   
in a way that was flattering and incredibly romantic. Bruce never   
let her in too much even in school, his past was a closed subject   
and Julie respected that after her research turned up the tragedy   
of his parents' murder. Julie thought she had finally broken   
through when Bruce proposed, but since their time apart, something   
had changed. Bruce wasn't the man she thought she'd grown to know   
and love anymore, he was more like a stranger who wore Bruce's   
face and had Bruce's voice.  
  
"I hate these things too."  
  
Julie turned to see a woman with a glass in her hand dressed in an   
elegant red evening gown. She smiled at Julie as though they were   
old friends and joined her.  
  
"My husband and I are old friends of Sandra's father and if he   
weren't here, I think we'd both be at home curled up with a good   
book."  
  
"I'm sorry?" Julie answered in abrupt confusion.  
  
"Oh dear, there I go babbling again." The woman said   
apologetically. "I didn't mean to intrude, but you are Julie   
Madison, the actress aren't you?"  
  
"Yes, yes I am." Julie responded with a hint of uncertainty in   
her voice. "I don't believe I caught your name."  
  
"That's probably because I didn't throw it dear." The woman   
answered with a slight chuckle. Noticing that Julie either didn't   
get the joke or didn't think it was funny, she moved on, "My name   
is Nora," She extended a hand in Julie's direction, "pleased to   
meet you Miss Madison."  
  
Julie shook Nora's hand politely, "Likewise. If I get to call you   
Nora, please call me Julie, I'd feel more comfortable with that."  
  
Nora smiled a bright smile at Julie, she had noticed that Julie   
was being socially polite and that her mind was elsewhere. Still   
Nora was willing to make small talk for a decent amount of time   
before withdrawing discreetly.  
  
"My husband and I saw you in New York last summer. You did   
Shakespeare in the park with Orson Welles. We thought that you   
were wonderful in the role of Hippolyta."  
  
"Why thank you." Julie managed with an embarrassed smile. "You're   
very kind to say that, Nora."  
  
"Not at all, my dear." Nora answered. "My husband and I both   
agreed that we hadn't seen anyone play the part with as much   
confidence as you did. You have a gift for the stage, a definite   
gift."  
  
Julie smiled humbly, but Nora's praise was erased by Nora's next   
question, "So did you bring anyone with you tonight?"  
  
"No," Julie answered with a downcast expression, "I'm afraid I'm   
quite alone."  
  
Nora was about to comment when a new voice broke into their   
conversation.  
  
"Nora, darling! We've been looking all over for you."  
  
The slender man who strolled out onto the balcony was clearly   
Nora's husband. His manner was as elegant as his wife's, his   
tuxedo was impeccably tailored and his hair and thin mustache were   
well groomed. He smiled broadly and with genuine warmth. Though   
Nora's husband acknowledged Julie's presence with a tip of his   
head, he seemed to only have eyes for Nora.   
  
Not that Julie was offended, his companion held her attention as   
he followed behind Nora's husband with powerful strides. He was   
at least a good foot taller than Nora's husband and in a lot of   
ways he reminded Julie of Bruce in his graceful casualness. He   
was also incredibly handsome with well tanned rugged features, and   
stirring brown eyes that she and other women usually referred to   
as "bedroom eyes". Julie blushed slightly at her own mental   
reference. The man wore a gray suit which looked a little out of   
place against the backdrop of tuxedos and evening gowns, but his   
quiet confidence gave him an almost regal air didn't seem to   
require dressing up to impress people.  
  
Nora's voice cut its way past Julie's scrutiny of the auburn   
haired man who accompanied Nora's husband.  
  
"Julie, I'd like to introduce my husband, Nick Charles. Nicky,   
this is Julie Madison, the actress."  
  
Nick Charles smiled politely as he took her hand. "Miss Madison,   
a pleasure! We saw you last summer."  
  
Julie managed to shift her gaze, reluctantly, to Nick as she   
smiled and responded, "So Nora told me, and please call me Julie.   
I'm pleased to meet you Mister Charles. Wait a second, you aren't   
THE Nick and Nora Charles, the detectives?"  
  
Nick smiled casually, "Well we don't think of ourselves as   
detectives exactly, but we are those idle rich busybodies, at your   
service."  
  
Nora snuggled up to Nick, taking his arm. "Oh, Nicky's too modest   
sometimes, Julie. We just muddle through, but it's nice to know   
we've done some good with all of our snooping. In fact, I think   
this is the first party we've been to in a while where a dead body   
hasn't turned up in the punch bowl or something equally dramatic."  
  
"The lack of one seems to take an awful lot of excitement away   
from one of these affairs though." Nick said. "I've had to   
content myself with listening to harrowing tales of big game   
hunting in the veldt--" Nick paused realizing that his companion   
still stood quietly behind him, "--but where are my manners, Miss   
Julie Madison may I introduce--"  
  
Before Nick could finish, his companion had moved in front and   
took Julie's hand raising it slightly as he bent to kiss it. "--  
I'm Paul Kirk, Miss Madison, and the pleasure's all mine."  
  
Paul's eyes met Julie's and the two seemed to make some kind of   
unspoken connection in that moment. "I'm... I'm pleased to meet   
you Mister Kirk."  
  
Paul smiled, still holding Julie's hand and staring intently into   
her eyes, "Please call me Paul, that is, if I may call you Julie."  
  
Julie seemed to be in a daze as she said, "You can call me   
whatever you want, as long you call me." Julie flushed, a little   
embarrassed at her bluntness and a little guilty at her acting   
like an unattached woman. Still it wasn't like Bruce was here and   
a little flirting never hurt anyone.  
  
Paul only laughed as a response, it was a warm, gentle sound that   
seemed to fend off the chill of the night like an invisible   
blanket. Paul still held her hands as they stood there grinning   
at one another as if they shared some wonderful secret.  
  
Nick and Nora Charles, sensing that they were no longer necessary,   
made a discreet exit leaving the pair alone on the balcony beneath   
the gathering clouds of the night sky.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
TWELVE: "...THE DARING YOUNG MAN..."  
  
HALY'S CIRCUS OF THRILLS, GOTHAM FAIRGROUNDS, DECEMBER 21, 1938,   
MIDNIGHT...  
  
"YOU'RE A MURDERER!"  
  
Cowboy and his two cronies spun around in the direction of their   
accuser. They were on their way to Pop Haly's trailer to see if   
the evening's tragedy had made the proper impression on the circus   
owner. If it hadn't they were prepared to make the remainder of   
Haly's life as painful as possible before they killed him. Zucco   
had put the word out on Haly, if he couldn't pay, he'd have to be   
made an example for others who might begin to think they could   
ignore Zucco's threats. Zucco had even ordered Cowboy to set up a   
few "accidents" at tonight's show to let Haly know he meant   
business.   
  
Besides the Graysons, there were several close calls throughout   
the night. Among them were a fire started in a garbage can,   
dangerously close to the helium tanks used to fill balloons; loose   
latches on a few animal cages that were discovered before the   
animals that occupied them could escape. There were many more   
smaller incidents that happened throughout the night, all of it   
was pressure applied by Zucco to Haly's show. It was a gradual   
build up that led to the tragedy with the Graysons and now seemed   
to take an odd turn as Cowboy found himself confronted by a boy   
who shouted his accusation in the thick, oppressive silence of the   
now darkened midway.  
  
"You're the Grayson brat." Cowboy sneered. "What the hell do you   
want?"  
  
Dick Grayson was standing several feet away from the three men, he   
had changed from his costume of bright red and green into jeans   
and a T-shirt. Dick looked haggard and worn as he stood there,   
but he had waited for the killer to return, and Dick knew Cowboy   
would have return tonight while Haly was still shaken by the   
night's . In his right hand, Dick held what looked like an   
extremely long broomstick and the fury in the young man's eyes   
left little doubt that he intended to use it.   
  
"I heard everything when you were at Pop's trailer, I know you   
killed my parents." Dick mustered up all of the courage he could   
as he assumed a defensive posture and added, "You're not going to   
get away with it."   
  
Cowboy seemed less than impressed. "I should've burned you the   
other night, kid." Cowboy stalked towards Dick with cold malice   
in his eyes, "I won't make the same mistake twice." Cowboy's hand   
reached inside his vest and produced something hard looking   
encased in silver and black. A flick of the thug's thumb made a   
four inch blade sprout from the casing. "It's just a few days   
before Christmas, kid, but I'm gonna carve you up like a turkey   
anyway."  
  
"I don't think so."  
  
Before anyone could react, two darkly clad figures smashed into   
Cowboy's companions. One was a blonde woman who wore a mask and   
seemed to be much more trouble than her cocktail outfit and   
fishnet stockings conveyed. She issued a kick that looked like it   
could've crippled Bull Montrose, as he dropped to the ground. The   
woman's companion was by far more fearsome. He moved as   
gracefully as she did, but with no wasted actions. His gloved   
fists delivered four hammering blows which turned Lefty Monohan   
into a bloody, moaning mess sprawled in the mud. The Batman rose   
like a like blight from the thug and stepped towards Cowboy. The   
Batman stared at the leader of the bruisers through unblinking   
orbs of white fire, and with a voice as cold as Death itself he   
said, "Put the knife down and step away from the boy."  
  
Cowboy stopped cold, uncertain about what he should do next, when   
a sudden inspiration hit him. He spun, intending to grab Dick   
Grayson and use him as a shield, but he hadn't reckoned on the   
boy's ability to keep a cool head in a tense situation. Dick   
realized the danger as Cowboy began to turn and acted swiftly, the   
stick he held connected with the killer's chin with a sharp crack,   
spinning the thug back around like thread on a spool. Before he   
could regain his senses, Cowboy felt another blow take his legs   
out from under him as Dick swept the stick low on his return arc.   
Cowboy crashed soundly into the sawdust and mud.   
  
Dick raised his stick in a high angry arc, tears started to flow   
freely as the pain of his loss caught up to the fury in his heart.   
The stick flew as Dick's instrument of vengeance and as he swung,   
a cry tore loose from his very soul at this monster who had stolen   
his parents from him. Cowboy screamed when the stick began to   
fall, Dick yelled along with the doomed thug, his voice teetering   
between hysterical laughter and utter madness as everything he had   
bottled up inside his heart the past few hours threatened to spill   
over into the boy's tortured mind.  
  
He closed his eyes and tried to stop the tears, only to be   
overwhelmed by the flood of memory. It all came back, Dick's   
father taking him up onto the high wire for the first time and his   
mother a mixture of worry, confidence and pride as he swung out   
into space for the first time and understood what the hawks feel   
in flight, how free angels must feel to be above everything like   
he was at that moment in time. Dick remembered the day he saved   
his father's life during a bad throw. Dick's heroics brought him   
into the spotlight of celebrity and earned a special praise from   
his mother who christened him her "little robin". Now this   
monster had taken away the quiet laughter of his mother, the ever   
present smile of his father, the warmth and closeness they shared   
away from the big top was suddenly at his mercy and he was going   
to pay--  
  
--with a jerk, the stick shuddered to a stop. Dick knew what he   
would find when he opened his eyes--  
  
--a shattered broomstick, which rested less than an inch from the   
head of the frightened felon.  
  
"My dad taught me that killing's for cowards." Dick said with a   
grim look in his eyes, "but I want you to remember how close you   
came to dying tonight, because next time I might be the one who   
forgets."  
  
The Batman gently took what was left of the stick from Dick's   
still shaking hand. "You did the right thing, son. The police   
will handle him."  
  
"Sure they will." Dick said not taking his gaze from the killer   
still dazed at his feet, "Just like they'll handle his boss.   
Which will be not at all"  
  
"'Boss'? Do you mean Zucco?" Batman asked with a quiet growl in   
his voice. "Did this man say he worked for Zucco?"  
  
"Yes, he did." Dick answered solemnly, "He said it when he was   
shaking down Pop Haly."  
  
"The kid's crazy Batman, he wasn't there, Haly and I had personal   
business that's all." He smiled evilly at the boy. "This kid's   
just all broken up over his parents and imagining things."  
  
Black Canary stepped away from the two thugs she had tied up   
during the conversation between the Batman and the killer, she   
stooped down and began to tie up Cowboy. She smiled sweetly as he   
looked over his shoulder at her, Cowboy seemed to have a plan for   
escape already forming in his mind. "If you so much as twitch   
before I'm done, the next few seconds of pain will last you a   
lifetime." Canary's smile remained in place as she uttered the   
threat, unnerving Cowboy as she finished her task. "By the way,   
if the boy's crazy, so's Haly who we've already sent off to the   
police with a promise that we'd bring you and Zucco in. If I were   
you, Tex, I'd get ready to walk the last mile for those killings."  
  
"Dick's corroboration of Pop's allegations should insure a trip to   
the chair, unless you want to give up Tony Zucco's whereabouts.",   
the Batman added.  
  
"You're kidding right?" Cowboy answered incredulously, "Fat Tony   
would burn me if I--"  
  
"Oxey's." Dick said flatly, "Zucco's at some place called Oxey's.   
He told Pop that he should bring the money to Zucco tonight at   
Oxey's"  
  
"It appears we won't need you after all, tough guy." Canary said   
glibly.  
  
"Well at least I didn't crack!", Cowboy protested proudly.  
  
"Zucco won't know that.", Batman replied. "All he'll know is he   
winds up in jail right after we turn you over to the police. For   
all he knows, you set him up, hoping to cut a deal with the law."   
Batman shook his head sadly, "Too bad you're not cooperating, the   
police might feel inclined to protect you as a material witness or   
something. Still, I suppose you're right, it's better not to rat   
on your pals no matter what happens." The masked man turned on   
his heel, "Come on Canary, let's get Dick to the cops and let them   
know where to pick up these men."  
  
"Wait!", Cowboy yelled, "You can't do this to us, we've got   
rights!"  
  
"So did the Graysons.", Batman answered coldly, "And they still   
have the right, Dick here has the right, to see justice done and I   
intend to make sure that happens. Now whether that's you or Zucco   
in the chair when they pull the switch makes no difference to me,   
but someone's responsible for the deaths of this boy's parents,   
and someone will pay for it."  
  
The three began to walk away and the Cowboy cast his eyes around   
panicked at the scenario Batman had laid out before him. Zucco   
held power everywhere and though he wasn't as big as the Maroni   
Mob in Gotham, there were many men on both sides of the   
penitentiary's gray walls who owed Tony Zucco a favor or two.   
Cowboy knew that if Zucco thought he was betrayed, the likelihood   
that cowboy would wind up dead in his cell was a strong one.  
  
"Wait!" Cowboy yelled at the trio's backs, "I'll do it! I'll give   
up Zucco!"  
  
"Are you crazy?!" Lefty yelled over his shoulder, "Zucco will kill   
us if you squawk!"  
  
"We're good as dead if we don't, you mug, so shaddup!" Cowboy   
strained his neck even further as if he could make it stretch   
towards the three people who were standing in front of him. "I'll   
give you Zucco, tie him to the Graysons and the hits on those two   
cops in Gordon's Squad."  
  
"We know Zucco ordered those hits, if you're willing to give us   
some proof--", the Canary prompted, trying to keep the excitement   
out of her voice. Unlike Dick Grayson, the woman behind the mask   
hadn't found quick justice to resolve her father's death. Her   
short partnership with the Batman had gained her far more ground   
than she would've gotten alone, but there was still the capture of   
Zucco that had yet to happen. It frustrated her to be so close,   
but still not actually have her hands on the man responsible for   
killing her father. Even if she and the Batman got to Oxey's,   
there was no guarantee that Zucco would still be there. A man   
with a price on his head couldn't afford to be in one place too   
long.  
  
"Yes, you'll need to do better than simply implicating Zucco. Can   
you prove he ordered the hit? Can you tell us who actually   
carried out the order?" Batman asked, sensing the Canary's   
agitation. "We'll need names and facts before we can even begin   
to help you."  
  
"How was Zucco able to get to Gordon's men?" The Black Canary   
blurted out. "Who put the finger on them?!" Before anyone   
realized what was happening, the Canary had pulled Cowboy to his   
feet in one smooth motion, "Tell us what we want to know before--"  
  
A familiar gloved hand gently took her shoulder. "Not here   
Canary," the Batman's whispered command made Dinah reign in her   
emotions. "This is not the time or place for anger. Save it for   
Zucco." the Black Canary calmly put the bruiser back down and   
stepped back until she stood near Dick, but the Batman kept alert   
just in case she let her feelings get the better of her again.  
  
The Canary's actions were enough however to commit Cowboy. If the   
Canary was this angry at him, her rage at the actual participants   
could lead to Zucco's untimely death. "Well", Cowboy began, "it's   
like this, Zucco and Gat came up with the plan to off the two cops   
but they had a man on the inside, a guy in Gordon's department,   
who was willing to give up Corrigan and Drake."   
  
The Canary was shaken but held any expression of that inside. "We   
need this inside man's name." the Canary said in a stony voice.   
"If you're on the level, then finding and proving this man's   
involved will cinch it and get you off the hook."  
  
Cowboy opened his mouth to speak, but his words were drowned out   
by the sudden hail of bullets from a pair of Tommy guns. Cowboy   
and his two associates were riddled into hamburger in a few   
seconds. Stepping from behind a trailer were two broad   
shouldered, muscular men, who were too well dressed and well armed   
to be mistaken for roustabouts; were ready to make use of their   
weapons once again, this time on the pair of vigilantes and their   
young charge. Stepping out behind from behind the trailer, but   
still safely in back of the two giants, came an overweight man in   
an ill-fitting suit. The scowl on his face and the rage in his   
eyes left no doubt that this was the man who had brought so much   
horror and pain into the lives of so many people in recent weeks.   
With an evil grin, Anthony Zucco, known to the underworld as "Fat   
Tony Zucco" regarded the masked heroes and Dick Grayson.  
  
"Well he ain't gonna squeal on anybody too soon! Good riddance   
anyway, Cowboy must be gettin' soft when he get his ass handed to   
him by a kid, a dame and some Nancy boy in a mask!" Zucco turned   
in the direction of Haly's trailer, "Boys, I've got some   
unfinished business to conduct. Burn these mugs quick and then   
catch up to me."  
  
The Batman leaned in close to the Canary, "I want you to get Dick   
out of here. I'll cover you." The Canary nodded slightly in   
acknowledgment and put her hands on Dick's shoulders. Dick was   
ready to move as well. The Batman's hand had already moved behind   
his cloak and he seemed prepared to for the impending shower of   
lead. The gunsels grinned as they raised their weapons and   
started to pull the triggers.  
  
"NOW CANARY!!!" the Batman hollered as he drove for cover with his   
own nickel plated .45 blazing out of thin air. The bullets sent   
the gunmen scrambling away, but not before Batman managed to wing   
one of them. The Black Canary moved as quickly from the moment   
Batman started his dive. She snatched up Dick Grayson, who had   
already broken into a run without much prompting, and made a   
spectacular leap towards crates which held feed for the animals.   
Once she was concealed, the Canary turned the boy loose and   
proceeded to double back on her course.  
  
"I want you to hide until this is all over, Dick." With that, the   
blonde beauty took off at a hard sprint. Dick Grayson ran off in   
the other direction, yelling to wake the dead. Lights came on all   
over the performers' trailers and tents as they all responded to   
one of the oldest cries for help in their business. Dick Grayson   
ran until he found a perfect place to hide and wait for the Batman   
and the Black Canary to come for him. He dove in and closed the   
door just enough for it to be secure but unlocked in case he had   
to leave quickly.   
  
Fatigue, grief, and shock finally took their toll on the young   
acrobat and he started to drift off to sleep. The last thing his   
young ears heard were echoes of his earlier cry for help and the   
rallying of those who knew what it meant. The night rang with the   
humble cry, "HEY RUBE!" Dick Grayson drifted off to sleep secure   
in the knowledge that Zucco's time had come at last.  
  
****************  
  
The shots from the Tommy guns were badly aimed. The Batman had   
the advantage, his line of sight was better and his bullets had a   
less obstructed path to travel than those of his attackers. He   
fired constantly, staying aware of his shrinking protection as his   
attackers' bullets wore down the sides of the crates he had chosen   
for cover. Batman had seen the Canary flash overhead for a few   
moments and continued to draw the fire of the two choppers, he   
knew she was going after Zucco, and he hoped that she wouldn't let   
her emotions cloud her judgment.   
  
The Batman knew that he'd have to make some kind of move soon.   
The Batman's gloved hand moved towards a pouch on his belt and he   
scooped up several pellets. With an almost casual motion, Batman   
tossed the pellets over the crates and was rewarded with a   
satisfying pop that led to a thick cloud of gray-white smoke.   
Shots flared erratically as the thugs lost sight of everything,   
the Batman left his hiding place and moved with swift smoothness,   
his approach a wide circular one would take him behind the two   
killers before they realized he was gone.   
  
The plan would have worked out better if strong hands hadn't   
seized the Caped Crimebuster from behind and tried to crush the   
air out of him. The bear hug eased off long enough for the Batman   
to be spun around roughly and then the pressure resumed. The   
Batman had taken that brief moment to fill his lungs and get his   
bearings. The man who held him wore a leopard patterned vest and   
sash with khaki pants; huge leather wristbands drove their steel   
buckles into the Batman's back.  
  
"I've got one!", yelled Atlas the Strongman as he tightened his   
grip around the Batman. His face held a strained smile of   
triumph, "I'm gonna break you in half, masked man!"  
  
Effort showed on the Dark Knight's face as he strained to get some   
advantage, one arm managed to slip free and the surprised   
strongman was startled long enough for Batman's other arm to slip   
free. The Batman didn't waste time, he hammered at Atlas with   
devastating punches. The man refused to fall, he simply smiled   
through bloodied lips and exerted even more pressure. Blackness   
started to creep into the edges of Batman's vision, he had to end   
this quickly and decisively. The hero suddenly went limp in the   
strongman's arms, thinking he had won, Atlas started to relax his   
grip which allowed Batman his chance. The Dark Knight snapped off   
a powerful kick to Atlas' groin, while slamming both of his hands   
soundly across the strongman's ears. Atlas fell to the ground   
wincing as pain assaulted him on several fronts.   
  
"Sorry." The Batman said apologetically before he rushed off   
after his quarry once more.  
  
****************  
  
The Black Canary was amazed at the speed of Tony Zucco. The crime   
boss had managed to reach Haly's trailer before she managed to   
catch up to him. It was obvious to Black Canary that Zucco missed   
the fact that Haly was now under police protection because she   
could hear the man swearing and cursing as he came rushing out of   
the door, gun in hand.  
  
"I'll kill that bastard! Hide from me will he? No one messes   
with Tony Zucco, I'll rip his damn heart out through his throat!   
I'll--"  
  
"--Get ready to come along quietly." Black Canary finished   
angrily. "You're done Zucco."  
  
Zucco stopped short, took in the young woman who stood before him   
and then raised his gun to shoot. The Canary's gloved hand turned   
loose a hard throw at the crime boss, a slight hum of metal racing   
through air was heard for a second before Tony Zucco's own yelp of   
pain smothered it. Imbedded in the fleshy top of Zucco's hand,   
just a few hairs from the joint of his thumb was a black, bird   
shaped throwing razor, a new tool added to her already formidable   
skills by the Batman. Unfortunately, all that the razor did was   
throw Zucco's aim off, he still managed to fire off several   
bullets which forced the Canary to seek shelter. The heavyset   
thug then lurched off in the opposite direction, hoping he could   
make good his escape.   
  
A quick glance over his shoulder told Zucco that his pretty   
pursuer, was determined to bring him down. In panic, Zucco fired   
several more shots until the hollow clicking of the gun's empty   
chamber ended his hope of stopping the Canary with a bullet.   
Behind her, in the distance a shadow broke loose from the tents   
where his boys were supposed to have killed the masked heroes and   
their young charge. The shadow was closing the distance, quickly   
catching up to the Canary, the shape was unnatural, almost   
supernatural; and it belonged to a man Zucco began to think was   
impossible to kill, it belonged to the Batman.  
  
Zucco's eyes widened in fear, he ignored the sudden painful throb   
in his chest and returned his attention to finding a way to   
escape. He passed by the lion cage and, seizing a moment of   
inspiration, smashed the pin that kept the door locked and the   
giant cat, already excited by all of the activity exploding around   
him, burst from his cage and barreled towards the young woman.   
  
Before the Canary could begin to react, a net flew across the back   
of the lion. The first thought that came to the Canary was that   
the Batman had somehow managed to catch up to her and that it was   
he who trying to divert the huge cat's fury, but she as she looked   
over her shoulder to warn him off, she saw a man dressed   
completely in green and red and armed with a bow and a quiver of   
arrows. He wore a rougish smile on his lips but the Canary noted   
that he also wore a mask over his eyes which was barely visible   
from beneath the brim of his cap. In a way, the Canary thought he   
sort of looked like Robin Hood in a mask.   
  
The masked archer notched another arrow, which had a thick cord of   
rope attached. The cord had been twisted into a study loop. With   
a smooth motion, the masked archer loosed his shaft flew along its   
path and wrapped itself around the netted lion's muzzle. A strong   
tug tightened the loop around the lion's mouth effectively   
snapping it shut. But the beast had also managed to tear through   
the netting at the same time.   
  
"Damn!" The archer swore as he leapt onto the lion and straddled   
the gigantic beast's back as it bucked wildly across the parade   
grounds. He showed no hesitation or fear as he moved and the   
whole scene almost looked like a jungle styled rodeo. The   
archer's powerful muscles were corded, his face was intense with   
the strain of maintaining his control over the animal as he aimed   
it back to its' cage.  
  
"Get going!" The archer yelled, "I'll handle Leo, you bring in   
the bad guy!"  
  
"Are you nuts?!" The Canary shouted back, "You'll be killed!"  
  
"I'VE GOT IT! GO!!!", bellowed the masked man as he fought to   
stay on top of the lion's back.  
  
The Canary resumed her sprint after Zucco. As she ran past the   
masked man she yelled over her shoulder, "You're crazy!"  
  
"No, sister, I'm the Green Arrow! You're the crazy one for   
chasing a bunch of crooks in fishnets!" the Green Arrow replied   
with a hint of laughter in his voice. The Canary could see that   
the lion was already being guided back to the cage, so she pressed   
on, hoping she hadn't lost the man who ordered the death of her   
father.  
  
A few moments later, the Batman had finally made it to the lion's   
cage, he shot past the beast, who was still struggling to get a   
loop from around its muzzle. The Batman didn't stop to   
investigate the odd sight, he moved on as well, trying to catch   
the Canary, before she caught up to Zucco. He wanted to be there   
to make sure the gangster made it into the hands of the law, he   
wanted to be there when Zucco finally met justice. While those   
thoughts ran through the crimefighter called Batman's mind; Bruce   
Wayne, the man beneath the mask, only found himself concerned for   
Dinah Drake's safety. Both sides of Wayne's persona were in   
agreement about one thing, Zucco wasn't going to hurt another   
innocent if he could help it. One way or another, his reign of   
terror ended tonight.  
  
Batman never noticed the Green Arrow slumped in the shadows of a   
nearby tent, trying to regain the feeling in his arms.  
  
Rounding the last trailer, the Batman saw that he was too late.   
Zucco lay on his side, his hands clutching at his shirt and his   
tie was partially loosened, spit had frothed up on his lips and   
his face wore a mask of desperation and pain. The Black Canary   
knelt over Zucco, checking his pulse by touching the man's wrist.  
  
"He's dead," she said over her shoulder quietly, "I think it was a   
heart attack. I rounded the corner and he was lying here gasping   
for air."  
  
The Batman knelt down next to his partner, he was immediately   
aware of how close she was to him, the hint of perfume that   
managed to survive all of activity of the night and for a brief   
moment, he was distracted. Batman managed to shake the feeling   
off and get back to the job at hand, his medical training   
confirmed the Canary's deduction. "You're right." the Batman said   
standing quickly, "How do you feel?"  
  
"That's an odd question", the Canary said in response.  
  
"The man who ordered your father's murder is dead and you don't   
feel anything?"  
  
"I didn't want him to die." The Canary answered thoughtfully, "I   
wanted him to live long enough for the law to take care of him."  
  
The Batman managed to suppress a smile. Dinah had made her peace   
with herself, tonight made that clear to him and more importantly   
to her. Batman thought back to Cowboy's words and said absently,   
"This isn't finished yet."  
  
The Canary looked up at the masked man and started to stand. "We   
still have to find the plant in Gordon's squad don't we?"  
  
"Not tonight, Dinah," Batman replied, "our work here is done for   
now, we need to go."  
  
"Where's Grayson?"  
  
"Probably still in hiding. I'm sure he'll turn up later, but to   
be safe I'll have someone check up on him tomorrow."  
  
Sirens began to cut through the silence of the night. Without   
another word the Dark Knight and his companion took off for their   
respective vehicles concealed in the service entrance garage   
outside the fairgrounds.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
INTERLUDE  
  
GOTHAM GRAND HOTEL, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 21, 1938, 1:45 A.M.  
  
Julie woke from her sleep with a start. She sat up in bed a felt   
a breeze from the somewhere in the room. She pulled the sheet   
around her and slid from the bed, looking for her watch. She   
realized the time and muttered a quiet curse to herself, Bruce   
would be furious, but for some strange reason she didn't seem to   
care. Julie dug a cigarette from her purse and sighed quietly to   
herself. She thought about how quickly things can change between   
two people; she and Bruce had changed, they had grown apart and   
she was beginning to realize that there may be no way to bring the   
past back. Julie realized that she may not be in love with Bruce   
after all.  
  
This evening clinched it in ways that she didn't think possible.   
Meeting Paul Kirk in casual conversation led to dancing the night   
away, which led to a nightcap in his room which led to--  
  
A pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around her waist, hugging   
her close. She leaned into the broad chest and felt the sweet   
trail of kisses play out on her skin; starting from behind her   
ear, they ran down her neck, flew feather light across her   
shoulders and raced back up to her cheek before she found her body   
turning slowly so that her lips could meet his. The embrace was a   
passionate one, the kisses exchanged were hungry and Julie felt   
her head swim as hands touched her in the places and ways she   
wanted to be touched. Though it felt impossible, Julie broke the   
embrace, "We have to stop," she said through ragged gasps, "talk,   
for just a minute."  
  
"You aren't feeling guilty about this, are you, Julie?" Paul Kirk   
still managed to look casually elegant, even a little dangerous as   
he cradled her in his arms. "I don't normally do things like this   
on the first date."  
  
"We weren't on a date," Julie said, half smiling, "so this doesn't   
really count."  
  
"That's a relief!" Paul said in mock gratitude, "I still have a   
chance to make good impression."  
  
"Don't worry, Paul. I'd say you made a great impression already."   
This time Julie's smile was a wide one, which she tried to hide   
unsuccessfully with an embarrassed turn of her head. She shook it   
off and looked back up at him, "Seriously, I'm not sorry about   
what we did, I just don't like sneaking around on Bruce like this.   
I owe him more than that."  
  
Paul's expression changed to one of disdain, "From what you've   
told me about the man, he's an idiot."  
  
"Paul!"  
  
"Well he is! He wanders off to play at some sideshow when he   
could spend the evening with a knockout like you, he doesn't   
deserve you, Julie!"  
  
"Well it doesn't matter what you think he deserves, Paul, what   
matters to me is what happened tonight. I've felt like a wall has   
come up between Bruce and I, it's been there since I came to the   
house the other day and it's stayed up, keeping us apart." Julie   
took another drag from her cigarette and then offered it to Paul   
who took it from between her fingers with his lips. "I know what   
I have to do now, I know what I have to say to him when I return   
to the Manor."  
  
"And what will you say to Mister Wayne when you see him?" Paul   
asked glibly.  
  
"The exact same thing I'm going to say to you in the morning Paul-  
- good-bye."  
  
"Well I like that," Paul said indignantly, "a roll in the hay and   
you leave me high and dry with nothing but a memory."  
  
"I just need some time to myself, Paul. I need to know what I   
want from myself and whether or not I want any man in my life   
right now." With an affectionate, playful kiss, Julie pulled Paul   
close to her. They broke the embrace and held each other for a   
moment, looking out at the city. The first snow of winter started   
falling outside and they watched it together for a time.  
  
Paul finished the cigarette and smashed it out in the ashtray on   
the nightstand. "Looks like it's going to be a cold morning."  
  
Julie pulled Paul away from the window and back towards the bed.   
"There's still a few hours 'til dawn, we have some time to make a   
couple more of those memories to keep us both warm."  
  
As Paul lay back on the bed, he smiled up at her, "You're sure   
about this?"  
  
Julie smiled sweetly at him and let the sheet fall away from her   
body.  
  
"It would appear that you are." Paul said as he pulled her down to   
the bed.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
INTERLUDE: POLICE HEADQUARTERS, DECEMBER 20, 1938...  
  
James Gordon was frustrated. Tony Zucco was found dead of a heart   
attack at the Fairgrounds, he had the owner of a broken down carny   
in his interview room talking about Zucco's shakedown play and   
tying at least half a dozen creeps suspected of shady dealings to   
Zucco's mob. Warrants had gone out, his boys hit Oxey's, the   
docks and arrested a few crooked county deputies who had been paid   
an awful lot to look the other way. Gordon had interview everyone   
who was at the Fairgrounds when Zucco rubbed out his boys, he hit   
up every snitch, every contact and every stoolie he could find in   
the underworld and to a person they all spoke of one common   
thread...  
  
The Batman.  
  
Gordon heard stories that just weren't possible. The man had to   
be a master of disguise, an incredible athlete and a definite   
genius to pull off even half the things he was reported to have   
done. There were varying reports of his working with a blonde who   
was as dangerous as he appeared to be. Gordon saw the fear in   
some of the criminals he talked to, the Batman was real to them,   
as far as they were concerned, and they were afraid of Batman to   
the very core of their beings.  
  
Sure some of the reports were far fetched. Men who claimed the   
Batman couldn't be killed, others who said he drank blood, and   
still others who said he could fly like his namesake. "Too much   
Bela Lugosi" Gordon said out loud as he studied the reports and   
drank his cold coffee.  
  
"What was that?" across the desk sat newly elected District   
Attorney, Harvey Dent. Dent was a handsome man who was as welcome   
in the social circles of the city's elite as he was in the   
courtrooms where he plied his trade. He had also grown to be an   
uneasy ally of the detective squad's leader. Gordon liked the man   
well enough, but he had classified Dent as an intense individual   
some time ago. He was willing to do anything to see justice done,   
but so far had managed to adhere to the letter of the law.  
  
"Sorry, Harvey, just thinking out loud." Gordon yawned and   
stretched before handing Dent the report he was reading. "Reading   
some of this stuff makes me think that some of these guys are   
snorting back too much booze."  
  
Dent read the report and shook his head sadly, "I see your point.   
I find the plausible stuff just a little hard to believe myself.   
I'm still thinking that Maroni and his boys have started this   
little fantasy to keep the boys in line."  
  
A breeze suddenly hit the pair sitting at the desk. "Doubtful,   
gentlemen. Maroni's not that imaginative"  
  
Both men whirled in the direction of the voice and on the sill   
crouched a dark figure in a long cloak, the pointed "ears" of his   
mask fairly touched the top of the window as he let himself into   
the office. "Lieutenant Gordon, Counselor Dent, it's an honor to   
meet you both."  
  
Gordon began to go for his gun, a powerful grip pushed him back   
into his chair.  
  
"I'm here to talk Lieutenant. I have some information for you   
that you might find beneficial. It concerns your department."  
  
Gordon relaxed and sat still, "What are you talking about?"  
  
"You have a leak, Lieutenant. A leak that has already lead to the   
death of one of your men. Someone on your squad sold out to   
Zucco."  
  
"Impossible!" Gordon roared, "None of my boys are crooked, none   
of them are on the take!"  
  
"I'm afraid one of them is and you need to find him before he   
betrays you again."  
  
"How did you come across this information?" Dent asked quietly.  
  
"A thug named Cowboy was about to spill everything when he was   
gunned by Zucco's gorillas." The Batman answered turning his   
attention to Dent for the first time since he arrived.   
"Unfortunately, he was killed before we could find out who it   
was."  
  
Dent's expression changed as if the last piece of some puzzle had   
fallen into place. "It would explain a lot Jim, the bad tips   
we've gotten lately, suspects lamming out just before we arrive,   
crooks hiding right under our noses; Jim if this man's info is on   
the level, it covers a lot of the small stuff that's slipped by us   
lately."  
  
Gordon considered Dent's words as well as the Batman's. He didn't   
like this feeling, suspecting one of his own, not knowing as much   
as some masked man did, he hated the sudden loss of confidence he   
felt. The possibility was there though, the Batman could be   
right, but he could also be like the Green Hornet, a crook out to   
erase the competition. "I don't like vigilantes, Batman, I like   
mysterymen even less. I have no reason to trust them or you, for   
all I know, you're just another thug looking to make a name for   
himself in my city." Gordon stood and looked up at the taller   
man, jabbing a finger in the center of Batman's huge bat emblem on   
his chest. "If I find out you're some crook playing me for a   
sucker, I won't rest until you're under lock and key."  
  
"Whoa Jim!" Dent said standing, "Let's not be too hasty, maybe   
Batman's willing to prove he's on the level. You could tell us   
who you are under that mask." The Batman gave Dent a stare that   
would've frozen Hell itself. "It was worth a try." Dent added   
sheepishly.  
  
"How about a way to contact you then?" Gordon said with a hint of   
bitterness still in his voice, "We can trade information, seeing   
you have methods that are effective in their own way."  
  
A piece of white paper dropped out of the shadows of Batman's   
cloak and floated onto the desk.  
  
"What's this?" Gordon asked confused.  
  
"My number." Batman answered. "If you need to reach me, someone   
will be there. It's unlisted," Batman shot a glance towards Dent,   
"and untraceable. Myself, or one of my associates will respond as   
quickly as we can to your call."  
  
"There's more of you?" Dent asked flabbergasted, "You've got   
something like a League of Batmen working for you?" The Batman's   
glare at Dent was even colder than the first one.  
  
"This meeting is to remain a secret between us gentlemen, with the   
leak in your squad, I can't chance having this information going   
beyond this room." Batman looked back at Gordon, "I work for   
justice Lieutenant, not against it, I hope that you'll see that   
soon enough." The Batman edged back to the window.  
  
"If you'll excuse me." Before either man could move, the Dark   
Knight was gone. They raced to the sill and looked out into the   
snowy night. There was no trace of the masked man, he vanished as   
swiftly as he appeared.  
  
Gordon closed the window and he sat back down at his desk staring   
at the phone number that was the only evidence of his visit. He   
looked up at Dent and then to the reports they still had laying on   
the desk.  
  
"Let me see that one about his being able to fly again." Gordon   
said quietly.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
EPILOGUE: THE BATCAVE, DECEMBER 21, 1938, DAWN...  
  
The Batman was tired as he pulled into the Batcave and turned off   
the engine of his black coupe. He was satisfied with the night's   
events, Zucco was obviously judged by a higher authority, a more   
universal justice than the one he and Dinah would've turned the   
man over to. Dick Grayson's parents had been avenged, though   
Batman wished he could do more for the boy, help him through his   
pain, he knew that Grayson would probably move on with the circus   
or become a ward of the court. As he pulled off his mask, Bruce   
Wayne felt sympathy for the young man and what he would still have   
to face, but until the boy turned up, the best Bruce could do was   
make sure that he visited the boy and made sure he was okay.  
  
His Bruce Wayne "disguise" lay sprawled across the backseat of the   
car. Usually, Batman would've taken the time to hide his clothes   
under the gray flannel blanket that covered some of the Batman's   
other equipment, but he knew Gordon's office would be his last   
stop of the night, so he threw caution to the wind just this once,   
though he figured that Alfred would be annoyed with the wrinkled   
state of one of Bruce's better suits.  
  
Alfred met Bruce at the foot of the stairs, he held a tray with   
coffee, orange juice and the morning paper. Alfred had yet to   
change from his pajamas to his usual uniform. "Good Morning,   
Master Bruce, I trust your date went well?"  
  
"We managed to have an interesting evening, Alfred. Where's   
Julie?"  
  
"She decided to stay in the city last night, sir. She said she'd   
ring later to let us know when she would return."  
  
"Knowing Sandra's soirees, that could be another day or so. At   
least she's in good hands. What's on Bruce Wayne's calendar this   
morning?"  
  
"You have a noon meeting with the-- GOOD LORD!!!" The tray   
clattered to the floor, spilling everything and waking a few of   
the bats who lurked in the upper part of the cave.  
  
Bruce turned slowly, following Alfred's gaze. Out of the backseat   
of the car stepped a young boy. Bruce recognized him immediately   
as Dick Grayson.  
  
Dick looked to be in shock over the realization of where he woke   
up and who he was facing. "You're really him aren't you? I've   
heard of you, thought you were some soft rich guy living high off   
the hog, but you're really him! Wow, Bruce Wayne is Batman!"  
  
Alfred had done his best to compose himself. He had already   
managed to clean the mess up as best he could before saying to his   
friend and employer, "I assume there will be two for breakfast,   
sir?"  
  
Bruce looked at Dick, returned his gaze to Alfred's shocked face   
and the looked at Dick's awed expression one last time before   
saying, "Yes, Alfred, you assume correctly."  
  
With that, Bruce took Dick's hand and started up the stairs.  
  
"C'mon, Dick, let's get cleaned up for breakfast."  
  
-- The End --  
  



	5. Gotham Knights: Preparations, Epilogue -...

PROLOGUE: GOTHAM GREYHOUND BUS TERMINAL, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 22,   
1938...  
  
The bus pulled in slowly. The two men who got off first took a   
look around the station and the snow covered city beyond. One   
stared at it in awe and wonder, as if his mind were photographing   
the whole thing for use at some later date. His friend seemed to   
take everything in and after analyzing it to his satisfaction,   
seemed to file it away.  
  
"So this is Gotham City?" One man said to the other, "You're sure   
that this is the place?"  
  
"According to the rumors I've heard in the last few days." The   
other answered. "This is where he's spotted the most."  
  
"How long do we have?" the first man asked.  
  
"Only a few days to track him down and get him if we can," the   
second man pulled his coat tighter over his lanky frame, "if we   
can't, there'll be hell to pay."  
  
"Get the Batman." The first man said shaking his head, "I still   
can't believe we're going to do this."  
  
"So who do we start with?" The first man asked.  
  
The second man pulled out a notebook and flipped through a couple   
of pages, "Here it is, the guy's name is Wayne, Bruce Wayne."  
  
*****************************************************  
  
WAYNE MANOR, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 23, 1938...  
  
"What do you mean you're leaving?!" Bruce Wayne simply stared,   
dumbfounded at what he was hearing.  
  
"I have to Bruce, this just isn't working between us," Julie   
Madison tried to look Bruce in the eye, but it was just too   
painful. Despite her sorrow, she managed to fine a weak smile for   
the man she once loved and thought she would marry, now a stranger   
who seemed to care more about his business than he did her. "It's   
not you, Bruce. It's-- I don't know exactly what it is yet, but   
we've lost something and I don't know if we can get it back."  
  
"I see," Bruce said flatly, his voice devoid of any emotion, his   
face unreadable in the bleak cold light of the dawn. Julie said   
something else but the only thing Bruce wanted her to do was to   
go, he wanted her to leave and let him alone to decide if he was   
hurt or not over the fact she was gone. Bruce's attention snapped   
back into the real world as Julie finished speaking.  
  
"So, I hope we can at least be friends, Bruce."  
  
"Of course we can, Julie. We shall always be friends, no matter   
what happens between us," Bruce heard himself answering as if he   
were an observer outside of the entire conversation. "You can feel   
free to stay in the guest house for a few more days if you aren't   
able to find rooms in Gotham."  
  
"Uh, no, Bruce. I-- I've already made arrangements to stay with a   
friend of mine in town." Julie said hesitantly. For a moment, the   
detective in Bruce sized up the woman who stood before him. Though   
she was doing her best to appear natural, her body language was   
all wrong. Bruce realized that she was hiding something from him,   
something so big that it was making Julie leave him.  
  
Bruce's mind automatically began to run through the options, he   
began to review what he already knew about Julie and apply it to   
his analysis as he searched for a rhyme or reason for her sudden   
decision to end their relationship. Bruce realized that he was   
thinking of Julie as he would a suspect in a crime. He mentally   
shook himself out of the role of detective, making a silent   
promise to keep the Batman out of his personal affairs regardless   
of the cost.  
  
As Bruce and Julie tried to find something else to say, both were   
saved from further discomfort by a soft tapping at the study door.  
  
"Master Bruce?" Alfred said from the other side of the door.   
"Sir, it's about time we were off to the city if you plan to keep   
your appointment."  
  
"Ah, yes," Bruce said almost thankful for the interruption, "I'd   
nearly forgotten, Alfred, thank you. Get the car ready, I'll be   
down in a minute."  
  
"Very good, sir," Alfred replied. "Will Miss Madison be joining   
us?"  
  
Bruce looked at Julie's face to find tears welling up in her eyes.   
He stepped from behind his desk and put his arms around her.   
Julie buried her head into Bruce's chest and sobbed quietly. "No,   
Alfred," Bruce said solemnly, "Miss Madison will not."  
  
*****************************************************  
  
GOTHAM KNIGHTS  
  
"The Sincerest Form of Flattery"  
  
Written by Ali  
  
email: SEricAli1@aol.com  
  
*****************************************************  
  
ONE: "DETECTIVE'S COMMENTS"  
  
POLICE HEADQUARTERS, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 23, 1938...  
  
James Gordon made his way past the rows of desks sitting in front   
of his office. Activity was fairly light as most of the boys were   
out following up various leads about a sudden massing of criminal   
forces struggling to control what was left of Fat Tony Zucco's   
criminal enterprises. Luckily, the various challengers were   
pretty sloppy which made the collars fairly easy and the charges   
things that would stick.   
  
There were a few unsolved cases out there like who killed Gat   
Benson, the identity of the thief who pulled the Terrance Temple   
job, attempting to locate some guy who was smuggling penicillin   
and other drugs from Gotham's hospitals to a European black market   
and of course, trying to find a way to get the goods on men like   
the Penguin and Boss Maroni. The general cases that turned up on   
most police blotters between murders at the circus and the masked   
men who solved them.   
  
The only men in the office to take any new calls were Frank Merkel   
and Harvey Bullock, who were busy playing cards when he walked in.   
His secretary, Midge, was just returning from lunch and hanging   
her coat in the closet out in the waiting area. The two   
detectives looked up as Gordon entered and hastily threw the cards   
down on the desk, in a lousy attempt to look like they were being   
productive. Gordon shot them a look that let them know they   
weren't successful.  
  
"Any calls or visitors?" Gordon asked as he passed by.  
  
"Not a one, Jim," Merkel answered. "It's deader than my wife's   
last boyfriend around here."  
  
Gordon grimaced at Merkel's attempt at humor, "Work on your   
material, Frank. You guys were here the whole time right?"  
  
"We were out for about five minutes, boss," Bullock replied.   
"Just long enough to get some coffee."  
  
As Gordon pushed into his office, he was surprised to find the   
couch occupied by two men, one was tall, kind of gangly, and his   
long fingers hung loosely between his knees. He started as Gordon   
opened the door, but managed to fit a sleepy smile in place of his   
surprised expression. His companion was shorter, stocky and was   
not as disturbed by Gordon's entrance. He started to stand but   
was pinned to his seat by Gordon's lightning speed as a gun   
appeared in his hand out of thin air.  
  
"Who are you two monkeys?" Gordon growled as he closed the office   
door.  
  
"Uh-- I- I'm Robert, this here's my pal, Willie," the taller man   
said haltingly. "We wanted to talk to you. When we came in, no   
one was here so we let ourselves in."  
  
"That's an easy way to get ventilated, kid," Gordon said   
holstering his gun.   
  
Gordon had to admit he was impressed with the way the two young   
men had managed to get past his men and his secretary and gain   
access to his office. In fact if he wasn't so annoyed by the   
intrusion, he'd have considered signing them up for the force. As   
it was, Gordon had enough on his mind trying to track down any   
lead that would reveal the identity of the possible leak in his   
department. Gordon hadn't slept soundly in the days since the   
Batman's visit, he still couldn't believe that one of his boys   
would sell him, or the squad down the river.  
  
For a moment, he thought these two young men were a part of the   
plan to infiltrate and hinder his department, his family as it   
were, but these men were barely out of high school. They were too   
young, too fresh faced, too ill at ease to be finger men or   
trigger men, Gordon quickly dismissed them as potential wise guys   
and wondered just what their game was as he stared at them over   
the small mountain of paperwork he had generated in his   
investigations.  
  
"Okay boys," Gordon said wearily, "you've got two minutes to hold   
my complete attention before I have Bullock and Merkel toss you   
back out into the street."  
  
Both men looked a little startled by Gordon's bluntness, but   
endeavored to push ahead anyway. Robert spoke first, "We'll be   
quick then, sir. We're here about the masked man that's been   
spotted around Gotham lately."  
  
"Who, the Green Lantern?" Gordon asked, knowing that the famed   
Emerald Gladiator was not the masked man in question here.  
  
"No, sir, the new guy, the one they call the Batman."  
  
"What?" Gordon had to be sure this gangly kid wasn't trying to   
play some joke on him. With all of the uncertainty and suspicion   
that Gordon was already grappling with, the last thing he needed   
was a pair of idiots trying to make a name for themselves as the   
hunters of masked vigilantes. "Why the hell are you interested in   
the Batman?"  
  
"Well who isn't?" Willie asked. "Since the reporters got hold of   
the stories those circus folks were telling, he's all that's been   
in the news. So naturally, folks are curious about whether or not   
he and his little blonde helper are real."  
  
Gordon smiled a tired smile as understanding dawned on him, "I get   
it, you mugs are the press digging around for a story."  
  
"Well we are interested in doing some stories about the Batman,"   
Robert began, "but you've got us all wrong..."  
  
"No," Gordon said with no change in his expression, "I think we   
understand each other perfectly. And like I told your fellow   
snoops, the department's official position on the Batman and any   
possible associates is as follows: vigilantes will not be   
tolerated in this town, his actions are by definition illegal and   
it is the department's job to bring him in. That, gentlemen, is   
the official statement that the mayor and the commissioner have   
issued and what I am bound to carry out."  
  
"What about unofficially?" Willie asked.  
  
"I beg your pardon?" Gordon said in response.  
  
"You're quoting the official position, so you either disagree with   
it and have your point of view, or you're just a guy so used to   
following orders that you don't think for yourself any more." The   
young man crossed his legs and smiled politely at Gordon, "You   
don't strike me as a dumb cop biding his time until he can   
retire."  
  
Gordon's smile changed slightly from tired politeness to a genuine   
respect for Willie's observation skills. "Okay, boy, this one's   
just for you. My unofficial, off the record, 'if I see one word   
of this in print, I'll haul your asses in and throw away the key'   
opinion is: IF there's a Batman out there, he's got the crooks in   
this town scared stiff and looking over their shoulders. I, for   
one, am glad to have some guy out there making my job a little bit   
easier and doing some good for this city."  
  
"But aren't you afraid he'll show up the boys on the force with   
his costume and gadgets?" Willie asked. "I mean, people may not   
think you guys are very effective if you've got a mysteryman in a   
cape mixing into police business."  
  
Gordon's smile didn't fade as he hit the intercom button, "Madge?"  
  
From the other end came a woman's voice, "Yes Lieutenant?"  
  
"Send Merkel and Bullock in here," Gordon said evenly, "someone   
left my office door open and a couple of flies got in while I was   
out."  
  
"Right, sir," came Madge's reply, "they're already on their way."  
  
The door to Gordon's cramped office burst open as Bullock and   
Merkel rushed in. The commotion disturbed a few papers on   
Gordon's desk and caused some of the police notices pinned to the   
bulletin board to flap in the gust of air created by the door   
swinging open so suddenly.   
  
"These your flies, boss?" Bullock asked with a fierce gleam in his   
eye.  
  
Gordon nodded quietly, "Don't swat them Harvey, just turn them   
loose outside where they won't annoy me."  
  
"Right, boss," Bullock said snatching one of the men off of   
Gordon's couch.  
  
"Hey wait a second!" Robert said in protest as Merkel grabbed him.   
"What do you think you're doing?"  
  
"Showing you how effective the boys on the force can be," Gordon   
answered as he returned to his paperwork, "Good day, gents."  
  
Bullock and Merkel hauled the pair out of the office before they   
could say another word.  
  
****************  
  
Outside of the station house, Robert looked at Willie as the pair   
picked themselves up off of the pavement where they had been   
roughly deposited by the burly detectives.  
"I guess that went well," Robert said in disgust.  
  
"Actually it did," Willie answered with a slight smile.   
  
"What are you talking about?" Robert said, his voice gaining   
volume as he spoke. "HE THREW US OUT!!!"  
  
"Not before telling us something important," Willie said   
confidently, "he knows about the Batman and he supports him   
despite orders to the contrary."  
  
"So what does that mean?" Robert asked, dropping his tone of voice   
to something more reasonable. "You think HE'S Batman?"  
  
"No, I've checked into it, when Richard Drake got bumped off, he   
was one of the guys on his way over to his apartment in response   
to an anonymous tip." Drake's daughter said Batman was leaving as   
Gordon's boys pulled up," Willie smoothed the front of his jacket   
and checked the final result. "No Gordon's not the Batman, that's   
for sure."  
  
"Well who's next on our list?" Robert asked.  
  
"The same guy we tried to reach when we got to town," Willie said   
fishing through his pockets. He found a nickel and started   
looking for a phone booth, "C'mon, let's make another call to   
Bruce Wayne."  
  
*****************************************************  
  
TWO: "CATWOMAN IN RED"  
  
IVORY TOWERS, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 23, 1938  
  
"TA-DAH!!!" Selina stepped from behind the curtain with a   
flourish. She was dressed in a crimson silk gown that hugged her   
like an old lover, with matching short red silk gloves with a   
pearl bracelet on her right wrist. She was a vision in red except   
for one thing, a mask that resembled a huge cat's head covered her   
entire face, its mottled brown fur providing a sharp contrast to   
the smooth, trim body it was attached to.  
  
"Well what do you think?" Selina said waiting for a reaction from   
her guest. Her voice was a little muffled to Harry's ears, it   
sounded as if she were trying to talk through a wad of thick   
cotton. Harry, used to all sorts of oddities, didn't show a   
visible reaction one way or the other.  
  
"What am I supposed to think?" Harry Lime asked as he quietly   
sipped at his tea. "I'm tempted to turn loose a mouse to see if   
you'll pounce on it."  
  
"Very funny," Selina said as she removed her mask and shook out   
her gorgeous mane of silken, jet black hair. "This is all for the   
next job I'm going to pull." Selina tossed the mask on the desk,   
sending Isis scampering off to the end of the desk, arching her   
back and hissing. Selina smiled to hold back her laughter.   
"Thanks for your support, Isis."  
  
"Well you've got to admit, it's not necessarily a pretty face, my   
dear", Harry said smiling amiably. "As to this 'next job' what   
are you planning on, stealing a big collar and sand for a   
litterbox?"  
  
"You might say that, Harry," Selina said with a smile. "I'm going   
after some trinkets and baubles at the Mayor's annual masquerade   
party."  
  
Harry's expression changed as he stared at his protege. "The one   
held at the Penguin Club? Ambitious," Harry said, visibly   
impressed. "I've heard that event was by invitation only."  
  
Selina reached under the cat mask and lifted a cream colored   
envelope from her desk. She tossed it to Harry almost as an   
afterthought, "I'm pretty certain this will get me in."  
  
Harry opened the envelope and read the enclosed card intently.   
"Who, pray tell, is Nicole Howard?"  
  
"An alias that contributed a great deal of money to the mayor's   
re-election campaign fund for next year."  
  
"And the address?" Harry asked as he handed the envelope back to   
Selina. "I've noted it's not to this place or your old home at   
Temple's estate."  
  
"The address is to an abandoned house on the outskirts of town,   
out by Wayne Manor," Selina said with a slight smile.  
  
"I see," Harry said thoughtfully. "Well what about Bruce Wayne?"  
  
"What about him?" Selina said a little lost by Harry's sudden   
change of subject.  
  
"Well he's reasonably well off, unattached, and filthy rich. He'd   
probably be an easy mark for those green eyes of yours, why not   
just marry for money?"  
  
"I don't intend to get married again any time soon, Harry," Selina   
said sourly. "And if I do ever remarry, it'll be for all the   
right reasons, not for the sake of being a kept woman."  
  
For a moment Selina seemed to grow sad. Her first criminal   
escapade was the robbery of her ex-husband's home. It was the one   
time that she let her emotions overwhelm her judgement in the   
years that she had known Terrance and the result was that she   
nearly beat him to death. His death a few weeks later due to   
unrelated natural causes didn't make her feel any better. She felt   
that if she hadn't hurt him in the first place, he'd probably   
still be alive.  
  
Still the thrill, the power of those moments were a lure too   
strong for the young woman to resist. Selina had found a release   
in the thrill of the moment, a sense of adventure in planning a   
job and being bold enough to pull it off. This escapade would   
definitely be far more exciting than the last one and, Selina   
promised herself, far less deadly as well.  
  
"Sorry, my dear," Harry said with an air of forced apology, "I am   
an insensitive cad, aren't I?" Satisfied with his quite proper   
reaction, Harry smiled one of those Cheshire Cat smiles of his,   
and lit a cigarette. "Still, dear girl, why even go through all   
of this trouble? You could rob the majority of these people in   
your sleep one house at a time, and never get caught." Harry   
leaned forward, appearing completely interested for the first time   
since he came over to visit with his friend and pupil. "Why put   
yourself at such a risk publicly by robbing the most prominent man   
in town, during a high profile event in a city swarming with cops   
and masked vigilantes dressed like some giant cat-woman?" Harry   
blew a slim stream of smoke between his lips, "It's not like you   
need the money since you've reclaimed your stolen inheritance."  
  
"Why for the best reason in the world, Harry dear," Selina cooed   
softly as she picked up the cat mask from the desk. "No one's   
ever done it before."  
  
Harry smashed out his stub, "Well my dear, I'm afraid I'll miss   
your debut as a cat-woman, I'm leaving for Europe the day after   
Christmas so I'll finally leave you in peace."  
  
"What's the game, Harry?" Selina asked with an arched eyebrow. "I   
doubt that this is for the sake of aiding the Allied powers in the   
war against that little paperhanger in Germany."  
  
"My dear," Harry said with a dismissive wave as if he were trying   
to clear away some lingering remnant of smoke from his cigarette,   
"there is money to be made from this little conflict if one is   
willing to take a few chances. I won't be going for any extended   
period of time, I just want to see to an investment I've made in a   
charitable medical service that helps refugees in Central Europe."  
  
Selina shook her head in disbelief, "You don't expect me to   
believe that you intend to help the poor and needy with food and   
medicine. That's not exactly your style."  
  
"Well until recently," Harry said with a smile, "I wouldn't have   
expected you to be running around plotting spectacular crimes in a   
cat mask and yet here you are."  
  
"I suppose you're right," Selina said as she stepped into her   
kitchen. The clicking of her heels tapped out a rhythmic serenade   
as she searched for something out of Harry's field of vision. "I   
suppose there is still room in life for a few surprises and the   
unexpected."  
  
"Well don't fool yourself, honey," Harry said with a bit of a   
smirk, "there are services we offer that aren't exactly according   
to Hoyle, but necessary nonetheless. And of course, the extra   
risk engenders a certain 'consideration' for our efforts to make   
certain that those services aren't interrupted. There's still   
time for me to arrange a passport for you, Selina, would you like   
to come along?"  
  
"Afraid not, Mister Lime," Selina said as she re-entered the room.   
In her hand, she carried a bottle of champagne and a pair of   
glasses. "See, my dear, my debt to you is paid in full and I'm a   
girl who's not going to tempt fate if I can avoid it."  
  
"Well if you insist, Selina, but I must say this is unexpected,"   
Harry said with a bit of seriousness in his voice. "I thought you   
would jump at the chance to share an adventure into the unknown."  
  
Selina poured Harry a glass of champagne and then poured a drink   
for herself, "Well since you won't be here for the New Year, I   
suppose we should share a toast now."  
  
"Seems fair, my dear," Harry said as he graciously accepted the   
glass. "What shall we drink to?"  
  
"We'll drink to the unexpected, Harry, what else?" Selina replied   
with a smile as she touched the rim of her glass to Harry's.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
THREE: "THE NEW TEEN TITAN"  
  
WAYNE MANOR, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 23, 1938, DUSK...  
  
The manor was empty when they returned, Julie had managed to pack   
her bags and leave in the few hours Bruce and Alfred had been   
away. Bruce's heart still felt hollow and empty, he still didn't   
know what he felt inside, but he was glad for the results of the   
day in other ways as he heard Alfred coming into the hallway with   
Wayne's guests.  
  
"Wow! Look at this place!" Bruce heard a commotion in the hallway   
and the voice of one of his guests shouting with the wonder of   
youth at the grandness of his family home. The hall's bigger than   
most of the houses we've played!"  
  
"Dicky, boy," came the voice of another member of the guest party,   
"calm down and quit doing handsprings on Mister Wayne's carpet!"  
  
"I still have my doubts about this," came a female voice from the   
foyer just before the hallway. "Of course Mister Wayne has the   
means to do what he proposes but there's more to this than--"  
  
"Miss Briggs," Alfred's voice could be heard now and Bruce knew   
all too well the deftly masked irritation in his tone. The woman   
from the county orphanage had been voicing her doubts and   
displeasure since the group had left the courthouse. It was   
obvious that her opinion of Bruce Wayne's lifestyle was not a   
favorable one and that his winning the court case this morning was   
due to his influence in the city as opposed to what was in the   
best interest of her charge. "Mister Wayne has managed to   
maintain a multi-million dollar empire, donate thousands of   
dollars to charity, survive the depression that plagued this   
country over the last decade and even manages to pay me on a   
regular basis. I would think that his ability to be a responsible   
adult has been proven in fact as well as the courtrooms."  
  
"Anyone can buy a judge or pay off the hired help for a   
testimonial, Mister Pennyworth," Emily Briggs responded coolly as   
the pair entered the room.  
  
Alfred's facial expression was a superb effort in concealing his   
exasperation at the woman's bluntness. Instead of his usual   
working clothes, Alfred wore an off the rack brown suit that he   
altered himself with the skill of a seasoned tailor. The outfit   
was tastefully rounded out with a crisply starched white shirt, a   
pair of walnut brown shoes and a neat brown tie that matched the   
shade of his shoes.   
  
Miss Briggs' style of dress was as bland and businesslike as her   
manner, a drab gray business suit with an ill fitting skirt and a   
too loose jacket that gave her shoulders a deceptive broadness.   
Her mouse brown hair was tightly bound into a bun which looked   
like it wouldn't move even in a hurricane. Her flat heeled, black   
patent leather shoes were both functional and comfortable looking,   
but only added to the drab harshness that the woman seemed to   
radiate, not to mention conjuring up images of the stereotypical   
prison matron. Bruce had allowed that thought to cross his mind   
several times over the last few hours and found himself fighting   
the urge to chuckle over the comparison. As Bruce looked at his   
old friend and the woman who was assigned by the court to complete   
the day's business, he noted that the two looked as if they were   
engaged in some subtle battle of wills, each trying to protect   
their particular charge from the unknown.  
  
Bruce wondered if he was making the right decision himself as Dick   
Grayson bounded into the living room with a near flawless flip   
that carried him between the incredibly tight space that separated   
Alfred and Briggs, and landed with a grace and skill that Bruce   
still found uncanny in the middle of the room. Dick's inclusion   
into Bruce's equation was an unexpected one, but since the night   
he accidentally discovered that Bruce was secretly the Batman, it   
became necessary to keep him close to hand. Briggs was right to a   
certain degree, Bruce's status as one of Gotham's favorite sons   
did grease the wheels of the system quite a bit, albeit without   
any effort on his part. Bruce's request to become Dick Grayson's   
legal guardian was possibly one of the fastest to be granted in   
the history of the city and he wasn't going to complain about the   
advantages of his station when it can be used to help his private   
crusade against Gotham's underworld.  
  
Bruce's train of thought was interrupted by the entrance of a   
frantic "Pop" Haly trailing behind the young man, "Dicky! This   
ain't the high wire, stop it before you break something!" Unlike   
the other adults in the room, Haly was dressed in a well worn   
sport coat and a pair of off the rack slacks. He mopped his wide   
brow dotted with perspiration from his efforts to calm dick down   
and his fear that Bruce may suddenly decide that stately Wayne   
Manor may not be the place to raise a circus orphan. "Sorry,   
Mister Wayne," Haly said apologetically. "Dick's a very active   
boy."  
  
"Yes, Mister Wayne," Briggs said as if Haly had dropped some kind   
of cue for her to follow up on, "How do you suppose you'll deal   
with keeping such an active child from getting bored? What kind   
of friends will he have? What about his education, Mister Wayne?   
It's too late for him to enroll in school, what is he to do until   
the next semester, wander aimlessly around your home until you   
remember he has needs that must be attended to?" Briggs' voice   
rose a notch for each question she posed to the young millionaire.   
She fired one query after the next as if peppering Wayne with   
words would make him see the futility of what he was undertaking.   
  
Bruce however took the whole interrogation in stride and waited   
for the ranting to come to an end before he spoke, "Miss Briggs,"   
Bruce began with a yawn, his voice and manner falling comfortably   
into the role of the bored playboy politely tolerating one of the   
common folk, "Alfred will be more than happy to show you the house   
and surrounding grounds which includes a modest gym, an archery   
range, stables, a well stocked library and--" Bruce allowed an   
exaggerated expression of concentration to cross his face before   
looking up at Alfred in mock helplessness as he asked, "I forget   
Alfred, old fellow, do we have two or three swimming pools?"  
  
"Four, sir," Alfred answered dryly. "That is if you're counting   
the one out by the guest house."  
  
Bruce smiled at his butler as if his answer were a major   
revelation on Dick's future in Wayne Manor and continued, "Ah,   
thank you, Alfred. As I was saying FOUR swimming pools! There's   
a wealth of variety to keep the young man's body and mind   
sufficiently occupied until he can begin going to school at the   
beginning of the year. I'm sure that he will make friends in time   
once he gets among children his own age, he seems to be a very   
personable and charismatic young man."  
  
"You can't be serious!" Briggs said in utter disbelief. "you're   
dismissing the boy as if he were a puppy or something, Mister   
Wayne! This young man has been through a horrible ordeal in the   
last few days, you can't possibly begin to understand--"  
  
Without taking his eyes off of the young woman, Bruce said,   
"Alfred, take Mister Haly and Dick upstairs. I'd like a moment   
alone with Miss Briggs and I'm sure Dick would like to settle in   
and show Mister Haly around the house."  
  
"Er yes--," Alfred said with a slight cough, "As you wish, sir."   
Alfred's facial expression was as placid as a lake on a quiet   
afternoon, but his eyes showed a hint of worry over what would   
transpire in their absence. Miss Briggs didn't realize it, but   
she had managed to tread right into the core of Bruce Wayne's   
heartache, the painful loss that eventually drove a young boy to   
create the masked identity of the Batman when he grew up. Alfred   
knew as he led Dick and Haly out of the room that it wasn't Bruce   
Wayne who needed to understand the situation, it was Emily Briggs.  
  
As the sounds of footfalls receded down the corridor, Emily Briggs   
took a defensive stance, as if she were prepared to go to blows   
with Bruce if that's what it took to settle the matter. "Mister   
Wayne, I know what you're going to say, and--"  
  
"Would you care to step outside, Miss Briggs?" Bruce asked   
politely, his eyes had not moved from the moment that Briggs had   
first dished out a verbal barrage meant to change Bruce's mind.  
  
"I beg your pardon?" Briggs asked, slightly confused.  
  
"I was just curious as to whether or not you'd like to step   
outside for a breath of fresh air," Bruce answered innocently,   
"the room seemed a little stuffy to me. It may be cold outside   
but the change of atmosphere might do us both a world of good."  
  
"I'm afraid that attempts at being charming will not change my   
mind, Mister Wayne," Briggs said with her hands on her hips. "Dick   
Grayson's welfare is a serious matter, not easily solved by some   
rich man's whim."  
  
"Was I being charming?" Bruce replied nonchalantly. "And here I   
was assuming I was just trying to be a polite host."  
  
"Mister Wayne, you haven't heard a word I've said have you?"   
Briggs asked in a tone registering her growing frustration with   
the man's cavalier attitude.  
  
"Quite the contrary, Miss Briggs," Bruce answered with a sigh. "I   
have heard EVERY word you've said since we left the orphanage to   
the courtroom and from the courts to my home. I have not only   
heard every word you've said, you've repeated them so often that I   
can probably quote you verbatim." Bruce's expression changed from   
feigned disinterest to genuine earnestness. "I've chosen to keep   
quiet out of respect for your opinion and your obvious concern for   
Dick's well being, but enough is enough! I will not have my   
intentions, my home and the memory of my parents disrespected   
because you have a problem with rich people, Miss Briggs."  
  
"Mister Wayne, you--"  
  
"I what, Miss Briggs?" Bruce said cutting the young woman's words   
off before she could get started. "I'm too insulated by my wealth   
to understand the needs of a young boy who lost his parents? I   
beg to differ, Miss Briggs. If anyone's keenly aware of exactly   
what Dick's going through, it's me."  
  
"Oh, please, Mister Wayne," Briggs snorted with a dismissive wave,   
"Dick's pain can't be washed away by sudden wealth as you did with   
your parents."  
  
For the space of a second, Bruce's control slipped and he allowed   
himself to get angry. Just as quickly, he reigned in the words   
and emotions that would've erupted unchecked from a lesser man.   
"I'll forget you said that and presume that you're attempting to   
rattle me into relinquishing my guardianship of the boy. Still   
just so the record's clear, Miss Briggs, my parents were gunned   
down before my eyes by a senseless act of violence, needlessly   
murdered by some petty criminal who was too cowardly to act   
without the security of a gun. I loved my parents, Miss Briggs.   
I loved them more than life itself and there isn't a day that goes   
by where I don't wish that I had them back in my life. Let's make   
one thing clear, if I knew that sacrificing my fortune and the   
life of luxury I've lived because of it could bring them back to   
life, it would be a small price to pay.  
  
"I remember the well intentioned county people who tried to do   
what was in my best interests, how they fought to send me into   
foster homes and adoption agencies in order to restore a 'normal'   
family to my life. In essence, to bury my parents in memory as   
well as in body and fact. I was fortunate to have Alfred ready to   
bear the responsibility of being my guardian, saving me from the   
fate that 'helpful' people, like you, were ready to ship me off   
to. You have no idea what's best for Dick, if you did, you'd back   
off and give me the chance to make his burden a little easier to   
bear by helping him through this."  
  
"B-but the kind of lifestyle you have--" Briggs began with a hint   
of uncertainty in her voice.  
  
"Is more fiction than fact, I can assure you," Bruce interjected.   
"the scandalmongers paint my private and public life with far more   
exciting and provocative strokes from their brushes than what is   
actually true. I'm actually a very boring man than the Bruce   
Wayne who occasionally dominates the gossip columns. However I   
give my assurances that if you're worried about any conflict or   
danger Dick may face while in my care, I can promise you that   
danger will be shared by me and I'll move heaven and Earth to   
assure his well being."  
  
Bruce stopped and pinned Briggs with his steel blue eyes once more   
and added, "That is, of course, if you're willing give me the   
opportunity."  
  
Briggs stared thoughtfully at Bruce for a moment, his stare didn't   
waver as she weighed his words. The staring contest came to an   
end as Briggs shifted her weight from one foot to the next and   
then stared at her shoes as if inspecting them for some sign of   
dust. Finally, she looked up and smiled nervously at Bruce,   
"okay, Mister Wayne, we'll try it your way for now."  
  
Bruce could hear the uncertainty in the woman's voice as she   
spoke, but he smiled back at her reassuringly. "You won't regret   
this, Miss Briggs."  
  
"Of that I'm certain, Mister Wayne," Briggs said confidently,   
"because if I see even a hint of improper behavior--"  
  
"I expect nothing less than you and Batman himself to show me the   
error of my ways," Bruce said with a more relaxed smile as the   
tension drained from the moment. "You know I've just noticed   
something about you, Miss Briggs."  
  
Briggs suddenly became aware that Bruce's gaze had changed from   
piercing to appraising, which brought a slight blush to her   
cheeks. "What would that be, Mister Wayne?"   
  
"When you smile, Miss Briggs, you're quite a looker," Bruce   
answered with a charming smile.  
  
****************  
  
A few hours later, after Wayne's guests had said their good-byes   
to Dick Grayson, that Alfred and Bruce, who was dressed in his   
Batman costume stood waiting in the dark recesses of the Batcave.  
  
"Is he just about ready, Alfred?" Bruce asked slightly annoyed.   
"There's a lot he'll have to learn and the sooner we get started,   
the better."  
  
"Patience, sir," Alfred answered with a huff in his voice, "I'm   
sure there will be felons aplenty waiting to be beat within an   
inch of their lives."  
  
"Alfred..." Bruce said with something that resembled a groan in   
his voice.  
  
"Sorry, sir," Alfred said apologetically, "after all if you're   
very lucky some aspiring future crime boss will kill you both   
before Miss Briggs discovers what you and young Master Dick are up   
to at night."  
  
"It really is for the best, Alfred," Bruce said disregarding his   
friend's comment as he pulled his cowl over his head. The dark   
hood dropped into place, replacing the handsome features of Bruce   
Wayne with the fearsome visage of the Batman.  
  
"As you say, sir."  
  
"Just remember, Alfred," said a voice from the rear of the cave,   
"that I asked for this."  
  
The voice made both men look up as Dick Grayson stepped out from   
behind the dressing area and into the light. Dick's infectious   
smile was in place as always, but the young man was dressed in a   
brightly colored costume, a definite contrast to his guardian's   
uniform. A black domino mask covered the boy's eyes, a short   
yellow cape was draped over his shoulders, a bright red vest with   
yellow leather straps running down the chest like a train track,   
covered a green T-shirt whose short sleeves could be seen above   
the matching green gloves he wore. The remainder of his outfit   
consisted of green trunks and matching slip on shoes that bore a   
passing resemblance to elfin footwear. The red vest was belted by   
what looked like a simple black leather belt, but concealed in the   
back were various pockets that contained equipment similar to the   
Batman's arsenal. The one change that Dick made in the uniform   
from the original concept that Bruce had in mind was a simple   
yellow "R" in a jet black circle on the left flap of the red vest.  
  
"So am I presentable enough to be seen with the Batman?" Dick   
asked with a wide smile.  
  
Batman pointed to the emblem on Dick's chest, "What's this for?"  
  
Before Dick could answer, Alfred chimed in, "I certainly hope it's   
for something other that 'Richard'. Unless you intend to be like   
that Captain America fellow and call your boy sidekick something   
like 'Ricky'."  
  
Without missing a beat, Dick looked up at Batman, "He's not too   
keen on me doing this is he?"  
  
"He's pretty stubborn, but he'll adjust to the concept," Batman   
answered with an expression that may have been bordering on a   
smile. "So what's the 'R' for?"  
  
"Something my mom used to call me," Dick said with a faraway look   
on his face. "I'm calling myself Robin."  
  
Batman nodded his assent to the boy's chosen name and headed for   
the car. "Well hop in, Robin, school is now in session."  
  
As the shadowy coupe sped off into the growing dark of the night,   
a line running to the mansion above began to ring on the table.   
Alfred walked over to it and answered, "Wayne residence... No,   
Master Bruce has stepped out for the evening. No sir, I'm not   
certain when he shall return, may I take a message?" Alfred   
managed to complete the somewhat difficult task of dragging a pad   
of paper from where Bruce had left it to the edge of the desk   
where Alfred had originally placed it.  
  
"Yes sir, I got the first name, 'Robert', if you could be so kind   
as to repeat the last name and your number..." Alfred scribbled   
the requested information on the pad quickly before asking, "And   
the nature of your business?" Alfred nearly dropped the phone as   
the caller stated his business, "Er... Let me be certain that   
I've gotten this correctly, this regards the Batman..."  
  
*****************************************************  
  
FOUR: "BIRDS OF PREY"  
  
THE PENGUIN CLUB, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 23, 1938  
  
Oswald Cobblepot had managed to finally put the few nights of jail   
time out of his memory. If he were a vengeful man, he may have   
attempted to pull some strings to get back at James Gordon for   
following Bruce's suggestion, but as much as he hated to admit it,   
the time served only increased his status in the criminal   
community. He was known as the man who would keep his secrets, no   
matter what happened; a reputation that had already netted him   
information from some very wealthy fencesitters who held secrets   
and information that would fetch a pretty penny from the right   
people. He was mentally counting his potential profit to keep his   
mind off of the particularly bad comedian who was auditioning for   
the last open slot for the Mayor's New Year's bash.  
  
"...but the dog in the gorilla suit has to go!" said the long   
faced comedian with the obligatory rim shot from the house band's   
drummer. Seeing no one was laughing, the young man sheepishly   
grabbed his straw boater and cocked it onto his head. "Uh, Mister   
Cobblepot, I guess that finishes my bit. When will I find out   
about the job?"  
  
"I still have a few more acts to review before I can make a final   
decision," Cobblepot said as amiably as he could manage. "I'll   
have one of my people call you if you've made it."  
  
The comedian swept his straw hat from his head and turned   
nervously in his hands, "M-Mister Cobblepot, is it possible that I   
can audition for another part if this doesn't work out? Maybe as   
the M.C. or something? I really need to get this job."  
  
"So does everyone else who's shown up today, young man," Cobblepot   
said irritably. He didn't want to take the chance that the   
comedian was as bad at straight lines as he was at funny ones. "I   
understand what an opportunity it would be to be featured in this   
show, but I have to be fair to the other people waiting--"  
  
"I don't care about the other people!" the comedian said with a   
bit more anger than he intended to use in his voice. "My wife's--  
"  
  
"Gonna to be a widow if you don't walk out of here right now,   
skinny."  
  
The comedian spun to see one of the club's bouncers heading his   
way. As he approached, he cracked the knuckles of his brick-like   
fists, letting the comedian know just how serious he was about   
hurting the skinny comedian if he didn't leave.  
  
"Okay, okay," the comedian said in dejected defeat, "I didn't mean   
to get so upset, Mister Cobblepot. I'm going."  
  
"Cedric," Cobblepot said to the bruiser who was standing by the   
comedian, "make sure our funny friend here finds the way out   
safely."  
  
Cedric smiled at his boss as he guided the shaking comedian off   
the stage towards the nearest exit, "Sure thing, Mister Cobblepot.   
He's as safe as houses."  
  
After the bouncer and his charge had left, Cobblepot sauntered   
with that odd waddle walk of his towards the polished white doors   
of his private office, "If I'm needed, I'll be catching up on some   
paperwork in the office."  
  
A beautiful young woman in a silver and black waitress uniform   
spoke to the little man as he started for the door, "Mister   
Cobblepot, what about the other acts?"  
  
"Hmmm? What other acts Wren?" the man known as the Penguin said   
in a dreamlike way.  
  
"The ones you told that stiff with the corny jokes about," Wren   
said with a growing look of confusion coming to her exquisite   
features.  
  
"Why, Wren, my dear," Cobblepot said with a thoughtful grin,   
"there are no other acts. Can't you tell when I'm joking?" With   
a slight chuckle, Cobblepot turned on his heel and waddled into   
his office, closing the door behind himself.  
  
****************  
  
Cobblepot was still chuckling when he waddled over to a recess in   
the wall and leaned against it hard. the little man's weight   
depressed a lever and a section of the wall slid away to reveal a   
hidden safe. Grunting with a bit of effort, Cobblepot managed to   
stoop over so that he could manipulate the combination. After a   
few spins of the large dial, Cobblepot pulled on the gleaming   
steel handle and, with a little effort, managed to wrench open the   
heavy leaden door. A quick search of the neatly filed folders and   
Cobblepot emerged with his prize. He straightened up, huffing and   
puffing, and started to close the safe door.  
  
"Not so fast, Penguin."  
  
The woman's voice caught the beak-nosed man off guard. at first   
he thought it was Wren, using her pass key for some emergency, but   
as he turned, Cobblepot realized that whoever this masked blonde   
was, she had obviously entered from somewhere other than the door.  
  
"Well, miss, if you're here to audition for the show as a   
magician, you're hired," Cobblepot said trying to sound   
nonchalant. He had managed to pull it off pretty well until a   
nervous twitter escaped his lips.  
  
"Actually, I'm here to conduct business of a different nature,"   
the masked woman said casually. "I'm looking for some   
information."  
  
"What kind of information could a struggling nightclub owner like   
I, have for a masked woman who has an inclination for breaking and   
entering, illegally, I might add; into my office?" Cobblepot had   
managed to edge over to one of the planters as he spoke, behind it   
was a hidden call switch that would notify his people that he was   
in trouble. The bouncers and security guards would surely break   
down the doors, but Cobblepot was certain he could have the damage   
repaired before tomorrow's private Christmas party for the Van   
Dorns.  
  
As he leaned against the planter, attempting to look like it was a   
natural action on his part, his attempt was stopped cold by a   
sudden sound of metal cleaving air, and the surprising appearance   
of three black metal birds stuck deep into the wall just above his   
fingers.  
  
"I'd be very still if I were you, Mister Cobblepot," the young   
woman said as she drew forth another handful of the deadly bladed   
birds. "That was your only warning. Now as to my question..."  
  
Cobblepot straightened up and reassessed the intruder in his   
office with a new interest. She looked like some kind of showgirl   
in her leotard and fishnet stockings, but the mask was a definite   
wrinkle that identified her as one of the new masked vigilantes   
that had started to make their presence felt in Gotham. Cobblepot   
had taken the recent tales about these people as the half drunk   
ravings of some of the lower criminal classes or circus folk   
looking to get some free publicity by claiming they saw such   
masked people during the whole Zucco affair from a few days ago,   
but now here was one of them in the flesh. What did she know   
about him? Cobblepot regretted not paying more attention to the   
rumors and stories, he despised being unprepared.  
  
Unfortunately, it was a condition Cobblepot would have to adjust   
to, she had taken the squat man unawares and had the advantage of   
being a definite unknown quantity to get whatever she was after   
from him. It was a position that Cobblepot would not experience   
again, if he could help it. The little man made a quiet promise   
that he would discover everything there was to know about these   
masked heroes operating in his city. And if necessary, make   
provisions to remove them.  
  
"What would you like to know, young lady?"  
  
"Jim Gordon's detective squad has a snitch to the underworld,   
someone who's fingered at least three attempted hits on his boys,"   
the masked woman said. "I want to know who it is."  
  
Cobblepot's eyes widened so much that his trademark monocle popped   
loose from its perch over his left eye. "Why is this person so   
important to you?"  
  
"I'm asking the questions," the woman replied coldly. "The   
reasons why I'm asking are none of your concern."  
  
"Sorry," Cobblepot said with a measure of genuine apology in his   
voice, "I forgot myself. I suppose one can't help but be curious   
when someone like you drops in out of the blue, looking for   
crooked policemen." The little man brushed away some invisible   
speck of dust from his shoulder before focusing his attention on   
the masked woman once more. "I'm afraid I don't know, miss. At   
best, all I've heard is a rumor or two that someone on the squad   
had been playing ball with Zucco, but the person's name has been   
conspicuously absent from any reports I've received recently."  
  
"I know your reputation, Penguin, so I know I can trust that to be   
the truth," the woman answered. "I may check with you from time   
to time to see if there's any new information on this person."  
  
"I see," Cobblepot said apprehensively, "and I'm supposed to just   
allow you to intrude upon me for free information?"  
  
"Consider it your civic duty, Penguin," the blonde woman said as   
she moved towards the thick velvet drapes by the windows.   
Cobblepot noticed that they stirred ever so slightly, giving him   
an answer to the woman's means of entry. "Besides," she added   
with a smile, "the sooner I get what I want, the sooner I'm out of   
your hair."  
  
"Then I'll endeavor to finish this transaction with all due   
haste," Cobblepot said with a smile of his own. "And who should I   
be looking for when I do have an answer to your query?"  
  
"Don't worry, Mister Cobblepot," the woman said with a shadowy   
smile, "I'll contact you."  
  
Cobblepot fumed silently, the woman was practically out of the   
window and he hadn't managed to pull one useful bit of information   
from her. The pudgy man's mind raced through what little he did   
know and recalled something from the articles on Zucco's death   
buried under the purple prose of the Gotham Gazette's star   
reporters. "I see you're traveling alone, my dear, where's your--  
" Cobblepot let the question hang in the air for a minute,"--I   
want to say 'companion', but I believe he's your boss, isn't he?"  
  
The masked blonde's eyes narrowed as she looked back across the   
richly colored Oriental rug that separated the distance between   
them like a chasm. For an instant, Cobblepot wasn't sure if the   
change of expression was due to suspicion or anger, but he was   
certain that she was as surprised as he was by what happened next;   
she answered his question.  
  
"The Batman and I are partners, Penguin," the woman said   
carefully, as if she were weighing the significance of each word   
before speaking them, "but rest assured that the Black Canary is   
her own woman." She pointed an accusing finger at Cobblepot,   
"Don't try to play games with me, I'm on a very short fuse as it   
is. Find me the mole in Gordon's office." Before Cobblepot could   
say anything else, the Black Canary was out of the window with   
nothing more than the flapping of the drapes to mark her passing   
and the steel bird shape razors as proof that she had ever been   
there in the first place.  
  
Cobblepot stood there for a moment, as if she would look back in   
to see if he was staying put as he was ordered to do. Ordered.   
The very thought that he was being ordered around by anyone   
brought a wave of anger and revulsion to the core of Cobblepot's   
being. The anger seemed to bubble up to the surface of the beak   
nosed club owner's face, making a monstrous mask of malice,   
nothing like the cherubic face that Cobblepot wore in public. He   
spun and angrily ripped the blades from his wall and let them fly   
from his hand. The blades whizzed across the room and embedded   
themselves in the forehead of a polar bear rug that hung on the   
wall by the door. The rug was given to Cobblepot when the club   
opened as some sort of novelty gift. All three blades hit in a   
near perfect triangle with an accuracy that could not be chalked   
up to chance.  
  
"I'll show you who's playing games," Cobblepot said, his voice   
seething with venom as he dug the blades out of the bear's head.   
"Nobody's going to walk over Oswald Cobblepot and get away with   
it. Not Jim Gordon, not Bruce Wayne and especially not some tramp   
in a mask and her bat caped boyfriend."  
  
Cobblepot ripped the phone from its cradle and started dialing,   
his temperament had reached some measure of calm by the time the   
call was put through, his voice was even as he said, "Wren, I want   
the word out on the street, I want to find out who the mole is in   
James Gordon's detective squad and I want to know if anyone knows   
anything about the Black Canary and the Batman, including who they   
are behind those masks."   
  
He paused a moment as Wren said something in response. His   
features contorted into a mask of anger as he shouted, "I don't   
want to hear about how no one knows who the Batman is, someone   
knows something!" Cobblepot calmed himself as quickly as he had   
lost his temper, "I apologize Wren, give our usual people some   
incentive here, double my standard 'finder's fee' for the snitch   
on Gordon's team, triple for pertinent information on the   
vigilantes and a cool million to anyone who can bring me their   
real names."   
  
Another pause passed for the little man as Wren stammered   
something to her employer. Cobblepot smiled with satisfaction as   
he lit a fresh cigarette and jammed it into the holder, "That's   
right, my dear, one million dollars upon verification of the   
information. Now get cracking, Wren, time is of the essence."  
  
"I'll find your turncoat for you, Black Canary," Cobblepot said to   
himself as Wren rang off. "After all, every good trap needs some   
kind of bait to draw in the prey," Cobblepot hung up the receiver   
and studied the small metal bird in his hand for a moment and then   
casually flicked his wrist, hitting the bear between the eyes with   
ease. "It's time to remind these upstarts who holds the reins of   
power in this town," Cobblepot puffed contentedly on his cigarette   
and lined up his next throw with the second black bird razor.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
FIVE: "THE BRAVE AND THE BOLD"  
  
MURRAYÕS BAR & GRILL, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 23, 1938...  
  
"I'm telling you he was at least eight feet tall, with fangs that   
were covered in blood!"  
  
Willie and Robert sat and listened to the rubbery faced felon in   
the badly tailored black pinstripe suit. Eel O'Brien was   
recounting his version of the events surrounding Batman's visit to   
Murray's, and though the young men were dubious about the story   
they were hearing, O'Brien was one of the few patrons willing to   
discuss the matter at all. The others in the bar seemed almost   
afraid to broach the subject at all, some even claimed that the   
Batman was some kind of mystical creature who would know that   
people were seeking him out and that he would find them himself.  
  
Harvey Dent shook his head sadly as he listened to O'Brien's   
rantings and took a sip of his beer. The handsome young District   
Attorney had disguised himself in shabby clothes and several days   
of beard. His features were covered with an oily, substance that   
made his skin look a little darker and subtly affected his   
appearance enough to give any one who may recognize him pause.   
Dent had decided that he couldn't afford to trust anyone in his   
quest to bring down the Maroni crime family, the Batman had   
brought his reliance on Jim Gordon to an end when he revealed   
there was a mole in the dedicated cop's own elite squad. Two days   
ago, dent adopted this second face to mask his movements in the   
underworld while he looked for some kind of lead to the Maronis.  
  
Dent had used Apollo, his old nickname from his high school and   
college days as a surname and Joey, as a nondescript enough first   
name. His cover was simple enough, with the assistance of some   
planted records in the department's known criminal files, Dent, as   
Joey "the Face" Apollo, was a con man who could also stand in as a   
decent wheel man and occasional muscle. The manufactured records   
had Apollo as a two-time loser recently released from Ryker's   
Island out near Metropolis. If anyone bothered to investigate,   
Apollo's "history" would stand up enough to convince any doubters   
that he was genuine. Still despite the preparations, Dent was not   
able to make any inroads to establishing himself as a criminal   
worthy of the Maroni family's interest.  
  
"Yer in my stool."  
  
Dent looked over his shoulder at the mule faced thug who spoke.   
The man was tall, broad and muscular, his face bore obvious   
souvenirs from other fights he'd been in over the years including   
an unmistakably huge cauliflower ear. He wore a green and red   
striped shirt that was at least two sizes too small, but fairly   
serviceable if one didn't count the rather noticeable hole just   
below his left shoulder blade. From shoulder to chest, the man's   
upper torso was shaped like a V, he was probably able to dish out   
a world of punishment with the cable like corded muscles in his   
arms. A gap toothed, tabacco stained smile greeted Dent as their   
eyes met and the bruiser flexed brick like fingers at the end of   
his concrete pillar arms.  
  
For some reason, this didn't seem to bother Dent who was   
definitely the smaller man between the two of them, in fact he   
smiled back as he said, "I don't see your name here, friend."   
  
Dent was turning back to his beer, when he felt the thug's paw on   
his shoulder. "Look, sonny," the massive wall of muscle said with   
a growing growl in his voice, "why don't ya get off my stool and   
run along home to your mama before I have to get tough?"  
  
Dent turned halfway in his stool and said, "What was that about my   
mother, friend?"  
  
The bigger man smiled a little wider with the knowledge that he   
had struck a nerve, "I said after I got up off of your mother, she   
told me to make sure and tell you to get on home." The man's   
knuckles popped loudly as he cracked them, "Now you wanna make   
somethin' out of that, sonny?"  
  
Dent's response was to reach into his pocket and produce a coin, a   
silver dollar to be exact, which he twirled between his fingers.   
"Tell you what tough guy, I'll be fair, tails I move out of the   
chair, heads I don't."  
  
"An' what if I don't like the fact that it's heads?"  
  
"Then you're free to try and move me," Dent said with an odd grin.   
Before the thug could comment, Dent had tossed the coin high into   
the air. Besides the thug, several onlookers who had been   
attracted by the exchange, watched as the coin spiraled high into   
the rafters.   
  
The only person not absorbed by the flight of the coin was Dent   
himself, who promptly snatched a heavy bottle of gin from over the   
counter and swung it with all of his force at the side of the   
thug's head. The explosion of glass was rapidly drowned out by   
the horrific screaming of the bigger man who now clutched at his   
lacerated face which was streaming with blood that ran freely past   
his fingers. Before the injured bruiser could recover, Dent had   
jumped off of the stool and snatched it up like a club. Dent   
slammed the stool into the man's stomach, knocking the wind from   
him and dropping him towards the floor. as the man fell, Dent   
raised the stool and brought it down hard, evoking a whimper of   
pain from the prone felon. Dent kicked the thug in the cut up   
side of his face, before bringing the stool down three more times,   
after the third swing, the stool came apart in Dent's still   
trembling fingers.  
  
Dent looked down at the battered form that had been threatening   
him only a few seconds before and spat on him. "Nobody talks   
about my mother," Dent said flatly as he sent another kick off to   
the man's face. "Especially not some loser who ain't had any   
since it had him." Another wave of disgust passed over Dent's   
face as he threw the remains of the stool on bloody figure, "By   
the way, the stool's all yours, I hope it was worth it."  
  
Dent started to walk for the door. He knew that he may have just   
put his head in a noose with such a savage attack, but if he   
backed down, others would've tried to harass him and he'd probably   
never get a line on Maroni. Still as he headed for the door, Dent   
was prepared to face retaliation from any of the criminal's   
friends that may feel the need to avenge the man. Dent scanned   
the faces among the crowd, looking for some sign of a threat from   
among them, but what he found instead was surprise and maybe a   
sense of awe. Dent's hand had touched the knob of the front door   
when a hand tapped his shoulder. Dent whirled, fists clenched,   
prepared for anything.  
  
What was facing him as he turned was a smiling, dark haired man   
wearing a light tan suit. In his hand, was Dent's coin.  
  
"Whoa! Easy there, friend!" the man said raising his hands to   
show he wasn't a threat, "I just wanted to give you back your   
coin."  
  
Dent's posture relaxed a little as he accepted it. "Thanks, I'd   
forgotten about it in all of the excitement."  
  
"My pleasure, bo," the man smiled and extended a hand, "Pleased to   
meet'cha, name's Gamboni, Gino Gamboni." Dent marveled at his   
luck, Gamboni was one of Maroni's top lieutenants. He started out   
as a leg breaker for the Maronis but managed to climb through the   
ranks to become one of Maroni's most trusted soldiers. Dent was   
aware that Gamboni still hung out in the circles he came from,   
that's what made him so popular in the organization, but he was   
unaware that Gamboni actually frequented places like Murray's   
during his leisure time.  
  
"Likewise, Mister Gamboni, I'm Joey Apollo," Dent replied as he   
shook Gamboni's hand.  
  
Gamboni let out a rolling laugh, "Hey, kid, you start calling me   
'Mister Gamboni' and I start looking for my father. I answer to   
Gambino, Gino or sir." He released Dent's hand and put on his   
hat, "Only my closest pals can get away with calling me, Gambi."  
  
"Well you're an important man, sir," Dent said trying his best not   
to choke on the word "sir" as he said it aloud. "We've even heard   
of you and the Maroni family over in Metropolis."  
  
"Well it's nice to know a man's rep travels, kid," Gamboni   
answered, genuinely pleased. Dent knew that he had found his   
opportunity to work his way into the Maroni gang, playing on   
Gamboni's vanity seemed to be working as well, the gangster opened   
the door for Dent saying, "Take a walk with me kid, I wanna talk   
to you in private."  
  
"About what?" Dent asked in a wary tone.  
  
Gamboni slapped Dent's shoulder and roared another laugh, "I like   
you, kid. You've got moxie!" Gamboni's genial spirit quieted   
down to something more businesslike as they stepped onto the dimly   
lit, snow covered street. "Well since, you've beat the holy hell   
out of "Mammoth" McCoy back there, I need someone to watch my back   
as my bodyguard. You've just been elected seeing you created a   
vacancy by caving in the poor sucker's brains!"  
  
Dent's posture became defensive once again, "Hey I didn't know he   
was--"  
  
"Nix!" Gamboni said cutting off Dent's remark. "It was the guy's   
first might on the job and he blows it by getting his ass handed   
to him by a guy who swings a mean bottle of gin! The only person   
who'll be upset is his sister." Gamboni placed a friendly hand on   
Dent's shoulder, "Better I find out what he's made of now instead   
of later. Besides, I like the way you handled yourself, you think   
quick on your feet."  
  
"I learned to do that pretty early in life," Dent said. "If you   
don't, you won't survive."  
  
"Yeah," Gamboni said in agreement, "Ain't it the truth? Still   
what was the bit with the coin?"  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"You told Mammoth it would be a heads or tails thing, but this is   
one of them trick coins, it's got two heads! You stacked the   
deck, knowing you'd have to fight Mammoth?"  
  
Dent smiled now, "I knew I could beat him if it came down to a   
fight. It's never stacking the deck when you're betting on a sure   
thing, sir."  
  
Gamboni laughed once again, the sound booming and echoing off of   
the walls of nearby buildings. Gamboni clapped Dent's back   
heartily, "Yes sir, I like how you handle yourself, kid. Oh and   
you can quit calling me 'sir', you just moved up in the ranks.   
Call me Gino."  
  
"Anything you say, Gino," Dent answered as the pair reached   
Gamboni's car and Dent opened the door for "Joey Apollo's" new   
employer, who would also serve as the first rung in Dent's climb   
to bring down Maroni himself.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
SIX: "THE BATMAN'S FAMILY"  
  
CRIME ALLEY, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 23, 1938.  
  
"That's the spot," the Batman said pointing down at the grimy,   
thin strip of concrete that ran behind the remains of a boarded up   
movie theatre. "That's where my parents died."  
  
Robin crouched down and looked into the shadows of the alley as if   
he would see the bodies of the Waynes unmoved from the spot where   
they fell. "Did you see what happened to them?" Robin asked   
solemnly, "Did they ever catch the man who did it?"  
  
"My father was prominent enough to warrant the proper amount of   
attention for a time, but after a while, the memory of the crime   
faded from the public's eye and was eventually forgotten by the   
police," the Batman answered, his voice steady despite the obvious   
strain his coming here caused him. "I'm the only one who hasn't   
forgotten, the only one who still looks for the man who stole my   
parents from me."  
  
Robin nodded his understanding, uncertain of what to say next. He   
and the Batman stood at the ledge that overlooked the alley for a   
little while longer. Robin eventually straightened up and looked   
at his new mentor, "So what are we doing here?"  
  
"Just a history lesson, Robin," the Batman said without moving or   
looking in Robin's direction. "Just a chance to show you what   
kind of darkness inhabits the hearts of criminals, to show you the   
things they're willing to do to satisfy the hunger of the   
blackness that eats away at their souls.  
  
"You and I are orphans, Robin. Criminals took away my childhood   
and left me alone in this world. The mad act of one man set me on   
the path that led to the Batman," the Batman turned and placed a   
strong hand on Robin's shoulder. "It doesn't have to be that way   
for you, there's still time to walk away from this and lead a   
relatively normal life with another family instead of one as   
lonely as mine as has been."  
  
"I've lived in a circus all my life," Robin said with a bright   
smile, "this IS a normal life for me. I guess that means you're   
wrong twice in one night."  
  
"How so?" the Batman asked as a breeze swept across the roof and   
billowed inside the Dark Knight's cape.  
  
"Well your idea of what I consider 'normal' and about how my life   
behind this mask is going to be a lonely one," Robin said. The   
boy's brow was knitted in concentration for half a second before   
he added, "In fact, you're wrong on three counts, your life hasn't   
been as lonely as you think either."  
  
"You mean Alfred?" Batman said, his voice showing a general   
interest in the young man's train of thought.  
  
"Sort of," Robin answered. "I mean sure, you've always had Alfred   
and he's been like a dad to you, but I meant your own parents.   
They've always been with you and stay with you even now. Your   
dedication to honoring their memories has saved you from becoming   
the bored rich guy you only pretend to be."  
  
"I suppose you've got a point," Batman conceded, "but I'd probably   
have been better off as the rich playboy than as a mysteryman."  
  
"If you weren't here, who would've been there for me when my   
parents were killed? Who would've stopped Zucco? Who would've   
convinced Pop Haly to tell the police everything about the   
protection rackets? You probably saved more people from the thugs   
as Batman, than Bruce Wayne would've with a check."  
  
"That's all true, I suppose," Batman answered after a momentary   
pause. "Still I've failed as often as I appear to have succeeded.   
What about the people I couldn't save, Robin? What comfort does   
that give to people like Richard Drake, or your parents who lost   
their lives in the course of my stopping Zucco?"  
  
"You did everything you could, Batman," Robin replied. "There was   
no way for you to know what Cowboy was going to do to shake up   
Pop. Drake was set up by one of his own, there was no way to plan   
for that and no way to warn him any sooner than you tried to do   
once you knew. You can't stop every crime, but you can stop some   
on your own, others may be prevented simply because no one knows   
when you may come after them.  
  
The Batman is needed in Gotham," Robin said with a certainty that   
belied his age. "Even with all of your fancy tricks and gadgets,   
you're still a man. A man who might inspire other men to take a   
stand and do what's right when no one else can."  
  
The Batman said nothing, but Robin knew he was weighing the words   
that the young man had said to him. After a time Robin felt   
compelled to say something else, "You've inspired me to join you   
and that means that you aren't as alone as you think. You've got   
me now and I've got you, in a way that makes me your new family;   
it makes us each other's family, Batman."  
  
Batman still said nothing and Robin thought for a moment that   
maybe the Batman could be right after all. Maybe the man had   
lived his life under such a dark cloud that he may not be capable   
of allowing anyone else beyond the barriers he spent a lifetime   
erecting.  
  
Robin was about to say something else when the Batman stiffened   
and pointed down at the street below. "Something's happening   
below," Batman said peering into the gloom of the shadow soaked   
street.  
  
"What? Where?" Robin asked as he tried to see what the Batman was   
pointing at. When he was in the circus, Robin prided himself on   
being able to notice a bad throw and adjusting to make sure that   
whatever trick was being performed went off without a hitch. The   
young man was amazed that he couldn't detect the movements of the   
men Batman spotted until they passed under a streetlamp a few   
seconds later.  
  
For a moment, two men passed below the lamp in an animated   
conversation. Robin began to edge towards the end of the roof,   
ready to move when Batman gave the word.  
  
"No," Batman said softly as he placed a hand on the boy's   
shoulder, "not them."  
  
Robin relaxed and continued to watch the street. He saw something   
move in the shadows, something he could've sworn wasn't there   
before. Robin inclined his head in the direction of the movement   
and pointed. "Over there?"  
  
"Yes," Batman answered, "very good. Now, how many?"  
  
"There's more than one?" Robin's surprise was apparent.  
  
"Yes, five."  
  
"Five?" Robin repeated with a twinge of doubt. "Are you sure? I   
mean, how do you know?"  
  
Batman cocked his head slightly to the left, "Canary, keep an eye   
on him."  
  
"The Canary's here?" Robin asked, whirling around trying to see   
where the blonde crimebuster was for Batman to have noticed her.  
  
"Behind the stairwell door, she's been here about two minutes,"   
Batman answered as he threw a line which caught on the building   
across the alley.  
  
"How in the hell do you do that?" the Black Canary said as she   
stepped from behind the door and into Robin's field of vision.  
  
"Keep an eye on Robin, he's not ready for this just yet," Batman   
said, ignoring the question. "I can take care of this." The   
Batman dove off of the roof and into the night.  
  
The Canary joined Robin at the end of the roof and watched the   
Batman's form melt into the shadows of the street below. Robin   
looked over at the masked woman, "We're not going to help him   
out?"  
  
"You and I both know, he doesn't need the help," the Canary said   
as she kept watching. "I guess running off with the circus wasn't   
an option for you."  
  
"If you're talking about the costume and the name," Robin   
answered, "this seemed to be a bigger challenge than returning to   
the high wire."  
  
"You're right," the Canary said with a nod. "He's a difficult man   
to deal with, very secretive."  
  
"How much did you hear?" Robin asked returning to his vigil of the   
shadows.  
  
"What do you mean?" the Canary asked with a hint of protest in her   
voice.  
  
"You're trying to pump me for information," Robin replied matter-  
of-factly. "You want to know something. Something Batman hasn't   
shared with you. So, how much did you hear?"  
  
"Apparently not enough," the Canary said with a huff. "You'll do   
okay by him, you boys are two of a kind." The Canary took out a   
thin cord from a pouch on the side of her belt, attached was a   
hook that was similar in design as the Batman's grappling hook.   
"You have one of these?"  
  
Robin smiled at the gorgeous gangbuster. "Yep! I thought you said   
he could handle himself," the young man said pulling out his own   
hook and cord.  
  
The Canary made her throw and tested her line once it caught. She   
returned the boy's smile, "He's all the family I have too." She   
took hold of her line and swung off into space. Robin followed   
with the memory of a cheering crowd playing in his ears.  
  
****************  
  
"I'm telling you, we're not going to find him, he just doesn't   
exist!" Willie said angrily as he stormed down the street.   
  
Robert was nearly running to keep up with his friend, "Willie!"   
Robert pleaded, "Calm down! Hell, slow down! Where do you think   
you're going?!"  
  
"Back to the hotel to pack and then I'm headed back to New York!"   
Willie said slowing his pace enough for Robert to catch up with   
him. "We could make up something that matches the wild stories   
we've been hearing!"  
  
"Okay so Gordon's not talking, Wayne's impossible to find, but   
that's no reason to give up on this!" Robert said as the harsh   
glare of a streetlamp interrupted the gloom of this neighborhood   
that was once the playground of high society. "We're close to   
something big, I can feel it!"  
  
"Yer right, pal," a voice said as the pair stepped back into the   
gloomy shadows of the evening. Yer close to this big knife, bo.   
Now hand over yer wallets and cash and we'll be on our way."  
  
Willie and Robert looked around and saw several big men step into   
the street, two from the rear and three cutting off the any   
possible escape route ahead of them. The men were huge and rough   
looking. While Willie and Robert were able to hold their own in a   
scrap, these men were obviously veteran thugs, hardened criminals   
who wanted their victims to surrender without a fight, but were   
willing to break a few heads if someone was unwise enough to put   
up a fight. On some occasions it didn't matter either way, the   
thugs stole from their victims after beating them within an inch   
of their lives, showing any possible competition that moving in on   
this part of town was definitely out of the question.  
  
"You boys made a mistake," Chandler "Bing" Cherry, the group's   
leader, said brandishing his huge knife. "You came through our   
town without our permission, so you owe us toll." Bing grinned   
gleefully, "Boys take up a collection."   
  
The men moved in, not giving Wille and Robert a chance to get   
their bearings or make a plan. The thugs were going to force a   
fight, it had been too long since the Bat came to town and the   
cops began to crack down on them. The pickings had been slim   
lately, Boss Zucco's death the other day and the discovery of the   
mutilated bodies of Gat Benson and his boys this morning had sent   
a shock through the underworld. All bets were off now as thugs   
with aspirations and men with the muscle to keep them there began   
to eat away at what remained of Zucco's fallen empire.  
  
These five men fancied themselves the next wave of heavy hitting   
leg breakers to rule in Gotham's new criminal hierarchy. They   
were slick, young and prepared. They operated with a plan and   
didn't take on anything they couldn't handle with their fists,   
their knives or their guns. They even adopted a colorful tag name   
for themselves, one that had managed to stick with the mobsters   
that employed them on occasion, the Crime Alley Choir Boys. Not   
that any of these men had ever seen the inside of a church in the   
last half dozen years or so, but it sounded right so they ran with   
it.  
  
Jackie "Bloody" Reddrick always enjoyed his work. He was   
considered the most ruthless bruiser in the Choir Boys, a man who   
knew how to hurt people and took great pleasure in administering   
pain to his victims. Reddrick had sized up the young man in his   
path and knew that this kid would go down without too much effort   
on his part. Sooner or later, Reddrick mused to himself, he'd   
have to find someone who would at least be a challenge in a fight.   
  
A massive fist curled and cocked back, ready to deliver a bone   
shattering blow to Robert's face. Yet to Reddrick's surprise, his   
fist was not able to move, something had taken hold of it and   
refused to let go. The brute turned to see what had stopped him   
from tearing Robert's head clean off. Reddrick found himself   
facing the Batman, who stood there holding onto the bigger man's   
arm as if it were the simplest thing in the world to keep   
Reddrick's fist at bay.  
  
"You still have time to run away," the Batman said with a bit of a   
growl. Reddrick ignored the warning and started to swing his   
other hand around to swat down the costumed manhunter. That's   
when the Batman squeezed the big man's wrist. The amount of   
pressure applied appeared to be slight, but the loud, wet snap   
followed by ReddrickÕs howl of pain told a different tale. As   
Reddrick sank to his knees, clutching his now useless right arm,   
the Batman stepped over him saying, "What I just did to you can be   
fixed by a doctor, if you move from this spot, I'll break your arm   
in such a way that no doctor in this part of the world will be   
able to set it successfully. The pain alone will last you a   
lifetime and nothing short of amputation will relieve it."  
  
Saul "Slugger" Wilkins ripped his revolver from the holster hidden   
by his jacket but couldn't get off a shot before a black steel   
throwing dart sunk deep into his hand, forcing the shooter to drop   
his weapon. Wilkins tore out the dart and was reaching for his   
fallen pistol when a second dart bit into his neck. An odd   
expression came to the gunman's face before he fell beside his gun   
with a dreamy smile on his face. His partner "Red" Ross Geller,   
rushed to the side of the fallen crook and tried to rouse him.   
Wilkins didn't make any movement other than his eyelids fluttering   
shut.  
  
"What did you do to him?" Geller screamed. "You killed him you   
nut!" Ross started to reach for Wilkins' gun still lying in the   
street.  
  
"Your friend isn't dead," Batman answered with steel in his voice.   
"I used a mild, but fast acting, opiate of my own invention to put   
your friend into a very deep sleep. Unfortunately, I only treated   
the two darts which means if you reach for that gun, I'll have to   
use methods that are far more physical on you."  
  
"Oh-pee-eight?" Geller repeated with a bit of uncertainty in his   
voice, "I don't know what that is, but--" Geller snatched up the   
gun, "you're going to un oh-pee-eight him or I'm going to put so   
many holes in you, that I'll be able to drive a truck through   
you!"  
  
"You'll try," the Batman replied unmoving.  
  
Before either man could move, a youthful voice rang out, "He can't   
un-opiate him! The dope's doped, you dope!"   
  
A flash of red, green and yellow somersaulted over the Batman's   
right shoulder, cartwheeled a few feet out of the Dark Knight's   
reach and stopped in a crouch long enough to take on the form of   
the Batman's new partner, Robin. The boy was a whirl of motion as   
his right hand darted behind his cape and the returned with all   
the speed of a pitcher tossing a fast ball across the plate. A   
dull thud and a yelp of pain came from Geller's lips before he   
fell heavily to the ground like a sack of potatoes. The tapping   
of metal striking concrete revealed Robin's weapon, a small steel   
pellet, and in the boy's hand was the leather sling he used to   
send the small sphere on its way with sniper like accuracy. He   
had already loaded a second steel ball and stood next to his   
partner.  
  
"You can take a break if you'd like, boss," the Boy Wonder said   
cheerfully as he twirled the leather strap in his hand. "I can   
take these mugs."  
  
"Sure you can kid," said a decidedly female voice and this time, a   
whirl of midnight blue and gold shot over Batman's left shoulder   
with a brilliant backflip and landed with a less spectacular   
flourish than Robin's. However, the Black Canary did manage to   
equal Robin's accuracy as she threw a handful of her bird shaped   
throwing darts at Joey "the Trigger" Tribiani, pinning him to a   
wall before he could bring his own cannon to bear on anyone. She   
sauntered up the still confused triggerman and blew him a kiss.   
"I like a man who can't run away." The Canary spun on her heel   
and brought a solid roundhouse kick to Tribiani's jaw, snapping   
his head back hard enough that when it hit the wall, the thug was   
knocked out cold.  
  
"I guess that leaves the guy with the knife," Robin said, turning   
his whirling strap in Bing's direction.  
  
"Well he could still surrender," the Canary said with a new   
handful of bird darts between her fingers. The light of the   
streetlamp caught on the edges of the blades and were cut into   
glinting sparks as the Canary waited to see what the last crook   
would do.  
  
"Hey he didn't give those guys a choice!" Robin said jerking a   
thumb at the pair of still stunned tourists.  
  
Batman almost smiled, his partners were doing an old trick that   
Harvey Harris used to employ something humorously referred to as   
"good cop/bad cop" by the police and the underworld. Generally,   
crooks expected such a ploy and fought it realizing that no cop   
was going to really do anything seriously against the rules   
because a good lawyer would be able to fight it. The ploy took on   
a whole new dimension when it appeared as if a gang of masked   
lunatics were going to really beat your brains out.  
  
"Seems like you have a choice to make, friend," Batman said with   
as much ice as he could muster in his voice. "Make a smart one."  
  
The knife clattered to the ground loudly. Within a few minutes   
later, Bing was tied up along with the rest of his crew. "The   
police will be here soon, gentlemen," Batman said as he checked   
the knots Robin had used to secure the gang. "It would be to your   
advantage to tell them what happened and then return to your hotel   
as quickly as possible. Some of these streets aren't safe this   
late in the evening."  
  
"These birds are trussed up for delivery," Robin said with a   
bright smile. The boy inclined his head towards the Black Canary,   
"No offense."  
  
"Hey, you're the one calling himself Robin."  
  
"Hey wait a minute!" Robert said as the trio started to depart,   
"We've been looking all over town for you! My friend and I want   
to ask you guys a few questions."  
  
"Reporters?" the Canary said with a raised eyebrow. "We saved a   
couple of reporters?"  
  
"No, we're not reporters," Willie began, "we're--"  
  
"It doesn't matter gentlemen," the Batman said cutting the young   
man off, "we don't submit to interviews. Have a good evening."   
With that the three costumed figures melted back into the shadows   
that they came from, leaving Wille and Robert alone and amazed   
with the captured gang.  
  
"I TOLD you he was real!" Robert said with a hint of triumph in   
his voice.  
  
"For all the good it does us," Willie replied sullenly. "We're   
still no closer to finding out about him than we were when we   
started."  
  
"There's still Bruce Wayne," Robert said with a hint of optimism.   
"That's the only angle we've got left."  
  
"Yeah, I guess so," Willie said with far less enthusiasm. "That's   
if we ever catch up to him."  
  
"We'll get him," Robert answered with a smile, "he's got to be at   
home sooner or later."  
  
*****************************************************  
  
SEVEN: "NO MORE FUN"  
  
POLICE HEADQUARTERS, DECEMBER 24, 1938, DAWN...  
  
"Book this guy, Bill," James Corrigan said as he roughly shoved   
"Tiny Feet" Liefeld into a chair. The thug was one of the crash   
and burn types that cropped up often in the underworld. A kid   
with big ideas but not enough follow through to gain any   
supporters in the criminal classes or to be a threat to anyone   
outside of them. This was Liefeld's third or fourth fall since he   
came on the scene in Gotham, Corrigan regarded the man as someone   
with very little style and even less substance.  
  
"I was framed I tell ya!" Liefeld hollered as he tried to rise   
from the seat. "Corrigan's trying to railroad me! I wanna see a   
lawyer!"  
  
Corrigan shoved the kid back into the chair, "If you don't shut   
your yap, I'm gonna show you what being railroaded is all about by   
dropping you under a moving train."  
  
"Good Lord, man!" Sergeant Bill Randall exclaimed as Jim Corrigan   
turned towards the desk, "Don't you ever take the day off?"  
  
"I was trying to," Corrigan said with half a smile coming to his   
face, "when Dillinger here tried to stick me up."  
  
"You'd think he'd remember you after that bust in '36," Randall   
replied with a laugh. Looking over at the baby faced crook   
Randall asked, "What is it with you, Tiny Feet, you miss jail food   
that much?"  
  
"DON'T CALL ME THAT!!!" Liefeld roared.  
  
"Quit your crying," Corrigan said irritably. "If your feet   
weren't so bloody small, you'd have shot yourself in the toe when   
I snatched that gun from you!"  
  
"You're kidding, right?" Randall inquired.  
  
"Wish I where," Corrigan answered. "I'm headed out to the automat   
to grab a bit to eat when I spot the kid about to draw on me, so I   
spin, pull my weapon and tell him to freeze. The kid must've   
gotten rattled or something, the next thing I know, there's a shot   
bouncing off of the sidewalk, less than an inch from his big toe."   
Corrigan turned to the kid, "Count yourself lucky, Tiny Feet, you   
might have wound up with a name change like 'Shot Myself In the   
Feet like An Idiot' Liefeld."  
  
"Sez you, copper!" Liefeld whined, "I had the drop on you, you   
just got lucky!"  
  
"That sounds like a confession," Corrigan said.  
  
"In front of witnesses no less," Randall agreed with a chuckle   
while shaking his head. "You said you have a weapon too?"  
  
Corrigan smiled, "Do I ever, get a load of this." the red headed   
detective reached into his jacket pocket and extracted a small   
gun. He slid it across the counter to Randall and waited for the   
officer to examine it.  
  
Randall looked up at Corrigan, re-examined the gun and looked up   
once more with an expression of complete disbelief etched into his   
features.  
  
"He held you up with a pellet gun?" Randall said out loud. The   
other officers that had gathered around howled their laughter as   
the little crook seemed to shrink further into the seat. Randall   
looked at the kid, "What were going to do, kid, PRETEND you killed   
him? The worst thing you could've done was bruise somebody with   
one of these!" Randall managed to get some measure of control   
over his laughter and say to Corrigan, "You want to press charges,   
Jim?"  
  
Corrigan was looking at a wall covered with reports and bulletins   
when Randall asked the question. For a moment, Randall thought   
that Corrigan wasn't looking at the wall, so much as he was   
looking through it. Corrigan must've heard Randall though, "I'll   
let you know, Bill. Right now, lock him up and I'll decide when I   
file my report. I need to get back to my day off."  
  
"You got it, Jim," Randall said nodding to an officer who stepped   
around the desk and led Liefeld downstairs to the booking room.   
"Try not to get killed out there if you can avoid it."  
  
"That should be pretty easy," Corrigan said with a grin, "after   
all it's Christmas Eve." With that, Corrigan hurried through the   
doors of the precinct house and rushed into the street. He looked   
around for a moment, looking for the person he thought he saw from   
inside the building. Not seeing anyone he recognized, Corrigan   
began to briskly stride down the street. He rounded the corner   
and found himself face to face with, his fiancŽe Clarice Winston.  
  
"Hello, Jim."  
  
"Clarice," Corrigan said, stopping up short. "How have you been?"  
  
The young woman's eyes narrowed as she studied his face. She   
studied the eyes of the man she loved, trying to decide what to   
say next. "I suppose I could ask you the same thing, I haven't   
seen you since--" ClariceÕs voice trailed off with a quiver, "Did   
I do something to you, Jim? Is there some reason why you're   
avoiding me?"  
  
"I've been busy," Corrigan said apologetically to the young woman.   
He knew it wasn't much of an answer, but he was at a loss over   
what he should say too. Corrigan had avoided Clarice for a number   
of reasons, he felt it was his fault that she was almost killed by   
his enemies, his fault that she was nearly violated in other ways   
that would've made death a kindness, his fault that he couldn't   
protect her. Still even more importantly than that, he was dead,   
a ghost of the man that Clarice loved; and though he still loved   
Clarice, was it fair to her to live a lie, to live as if he were   
still alive? With no easy answer, Corrigan dived into his work,   
the one constant that seemed to stay with him regardless of how he   
existed.  
  
Rousting criminals was one thing, maintaining an active love life   
was quite another. Corrigan was hoping to have more time to   
decide what to do, more time to figure out where Clarice fit into   
his life now that he wasn't alive. Now, it seemed as if he had   
run out of time. He knew Clarice too well, she wanted some   
answers and wasn't prepared to leave until she got something other   
than "I've been busy" as a reason for his recent behavior. Taking   
a deep breath, Jim began to search around for a reasonable   
response that could get him out of this uncomfortable situation.  
  
Unfortunately, the answer was an elusive one.  
  
"Clarice, baby, I--"  
  
"No, Jim," Clarice said cutting the detective off with a wave of   
her hand, "Don't try to tell me this is because you couldn't   
protect me or something equally patronizing, I don't want to hear   
it, because I already know that is only part of the reason."  
  
"Okay," Jim said with a bit of surrender to his voice, "no   
patronizing."  
  
"Don't try to pacify me either, by agreeing so quickly," Clarice   
said crossing her arms. "Even when you think you let me down,   
you'd at least talk about it to me, you'd tell me something. You   
haven't called or stopped by to check on me since you rescued me   
from Gat Benson's hideout. You've never kept any secrets from me-  
-" Clarice wiped away a tear that started to fall down her cheek.   
"--That it until now."  
  
"I'm not keeping anything at all from you, baby," Corrigan   
protested. "There's nothing that happened that you didn't see   
happen."  
  
"He said he shot you, Jim," Clarice said looking away. "He said   
he shot you at point blank range, twelve times. He said that he   
didn't miss at all."  
  
"Benson was lying, honey," Jim answered desperately. "He said it   
to scare you, to make you think there was no one coming to rescue   
you. If he shot me so many times there's no way I could be   
standing here talking to you, sweetheart, no way at all."  
  
"No, Jim," Clarice said sternly. "Benson was sure, he wasn't   
lying. You taught me how to spot someone in a lie, remember?"  
  
Jim hadn't forgotten, it was the one time he was glad that there   
were confidence men in the world, he may have never met Clarice if   
it weren't for one trying to blackmail her father. "He just   
thought he got me, honey," Corrigan said as confidently as   
possible, "I just fooled him, that's all."  
  
"You said you could always tell when someone lied by their eyes,   
their body language, how they answer when you catch them in a   
lie," Clarice said as she stared Corrigan in the eye. He turned   
away slightly from the young woman's gaze, "You're lying to me   
now, Jim. Something did happen back at the pier, something you're   
not telling me."  
  
"Like what?" Corrigan asked before he almost immediately regretted   
posing the question in the first place. It was almost as if the   
debutante had been waiting for Corrigan to say that one thing.  
  
"Like how you managed to survive," Clarice answered quietly, "how   
did you walk away from that whole thing without so much as a   
scratch."  
  
Corrigan made a decision, one that he hated himself for, but found   
necessary to keep his secret. He allowed his face to cloud with   
indignation and anger as he spoke, "Clarice, I don't have the time   
or the energy for this. You're right, something did happen out   
there at the pier. I realized I let myself get soft, I lost my   
edge and it nearly got you and me killed. After I found you, I   
realized that if we got married, the day would come when someone   
else would take advantage of that weakness."  
  
Clarice was stunned, "So now I'm a liability to you? I'm a   
weakness to be exploited?" Clarice's tears came freely now and   
she didn't bother to wipe them away as they fell, "Well you won't   
have to worry about that any more, Jim, we're through!" Clarice   
punctuated her statement by slapping Jim soundly. "Damn you, Jim!   
Goddamn you!" The girl rushed away sobbing, leaving Corrigan to   
wonder if he did the right thing. Leaving Jim to wonder if his   
one anchor to his emotions hadn't been cast away. Leaving him to   
wonder if Clarice's words may have cost more than their love   
affair, had it cost him his soul too?  
  
Clarice had managed to compose herself by the time she reached her   
car. As she slid behind the wheel, she searched for her car keys   
in her handbag and pulled out an ivory colored business card. The   
card belonged to a man who was making a name for himself as a man   
who could see the future, read minds and talk to the ghosts of   
dead loved ones. He was known by one name only, the Swami.   
  
The Swami was going to be a guest of her father's when he came to   
Gotham to do some seminars. Maybe Clarice could get the man to   
confirm something that she thought might be true, that Jim   
Corrigan was dead and the man who walked the earth in his place   
was either an impostor or her beloved Jim's spectre, unable to go   
to his final reward. If it's the former, she'd see the man   
brought to justice; if it's the latter--  
  
Clarice promised herself to find a way to bring Jim that final   
peace he deserved, the peace he had to have sacrificed in order to   
save her life.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
EIGHT: "BRUCE WAYNE AND THE OUTSIDERS"  
  
WAYNE MANOR, DECEMBER 25, 1938...  
  
The cab pulled up the wide drive and deposited Robert and Willie   
at the front door of Wayne Manor. Despite the common knowledge of   
Wayne's wealth, the two men were impressed by the vastness of the   
well manicured grounds, the pristine way the manor house had been   
preserved, the tastefulness of how the whole place looked; Wayne   
was not into flashy gaudiness, his home was rather a quiet   
testament to the wealth he held.  
  
The stairs leading to the door were guarded on either side by two   
huge marble lions, "Great touch," Robert said as he scribbled   
something into a small book he carried with him. Willie looked at   
his partner with a smile and rang the bell. The pair only had to   
wait a few moments before Wayne's English butler answered the   
door. Willie presented his card and the butler ushered the pair   
inside.  
  
"Mister Wayne is in the living room, gentlemen," the butler said   
dryly, "just go right in, he's expecting you."  
  
The pair entered quietly enough and found Bruce Wayne sitting by a   
roaring fire. The house seemed to be decorated for the holidays   
in great haste. Everything from the Christmas tree, to the   
unopened gifts under the tree, to the stockings and trim looked   
too fresh, too new, Wayne seemed to be taking it all in as if this   
weren't the normal decor for the place during the holidays. It   
was as if it had been a long time since the house had been dressed   
up for a celebration of any kind. Wayne seemed to come to himself   
as the two entered, he smiled amiably and crossed over to his   
guests, shaking their hands in turn as they introduced themselves   
to the young millionaire.  
  
"Welcome, gentlemen," Wayne said with a vapid grin, "and a Merry   
Christmas to you both!"  
  
"Thanks, Mister Wayne," Willie said returning Wayne's hearty   
handshake. "Hopefully we won't take up too much of your time."  
  
"I appreciate that, gentlemen," Wayne replied, "I'm expecting my   
ward back in a few hours, he's visiting some friends at the Winter   
Carnival. We'll be opening gifts when he gets back. Please, take   
a seat and tell me what I can do for you."  
  
"Well, Mister Wayne," Robert began, "hopefully your butler told   
why we wanted to talk to you."  
  
Wayne leaned forward and seemed to stifle a yawn, "Something about   
the Batman, I believe he said. Though why someone would want to   
see me about a man who runs around in leather and tights beating   
up on criminals is beyond me."  
  
A cough rang out from Wayne's butler as he entered the room with a   
tray of sandwiches and coffee. "I thought our guests may want   
some refreshments," the Englishman said gently setting down the   
tray on the table. "The sandwiches are a favorite of Master   
Bruce's, baloney, I believe is the name of the meat in question."  
  
"That will be all Alfred," Wayne said flatly.  
  
"Very good, sir," Alfred said dryly, as he withdrew from the room.  
  
As the doors closed, Wayne returned his attention to his guests,   
for a moment, Robert thought that a flash of recognition passed   
upon Wayne's face, but it disappeared as quickly as it arrived.   
"Now gentlemen, what's this about the Batman?"  
  
"Well, Mister Wayne," Robert said, "it's like this, we'd like you   
to be the Batman."  
  
"I beg your pardon?" Wayne said, surprised. "You're asking me to   
dress up in a costume and pretend to be this vigilante?"  
  
Willie laughed nervously, "No, no, Mister Wayne. We're doing some   
stories involving the Batman and we're supposing that he would   
secretly be somebody with a lot of money, someone who has the time   
to do what he does without being concerned about where his next   
cape is coming from." Willie spread his hands as if to emphasize   
the amount of money, the Batman would have available. "You're one   
of the few people we've considered to be Batman's alter ego for   
the sake of our stories."  
  
Wayne seemed to consider the request as something humorous. An   
odd smile came to his face as he mulled it over, it was a smile   
that prompted Robert to say, "I know it sounds a little   
outrageous, Mister Wayne, making a connection like you being the   
Batman, but--"  
  
"Outrageous?" Wayne echoed, "How so?"  
  
"You have to forgive Robert, Mister Wayne," Willie said quickly,   
hoping to avoid having Wayne feel insulted, "he's the visual one   
between the two of us. What he meant was, the likelihood of you   
being Batman is pretty slim. You've got the money, but you're   
just not the type to go running around town in some fancy   
longjohns and a cape."  
  
"Not the type?" Wayne echoed again. "Whatever gave you that   
idea?"  
  
"Well you may have had an interest in crime once upon a time, but   
everyone knows that you're just a man about town, a high society   
swell," Willie said. "Don't get me wrong, Mister Wayne, we've got   
nothing against society swells, just you don't mix in police   
matters like you did back in college. I mean there are other more   
obvious guys like Dick Benson, Lamont Cranston, Richard Wentworth,   
Harvey Dent or even guys like Brit Reid or Paul Kirk, but you,   
you're the last guy someone would think of as the man behind   
Batman."  
  
"And this is a good thing?" Wayne asked genuinely interested.  
  
"Oh sure, Mister Wayne," Willie said enthusiastically, "besides   
lending your name to the character, think of all the positive   
press it can bring you and Gotham as a whole. You'll give the   
Batman a name and a face that other folks can relate to. The   
public hardly knows Batman, but everybody's heard of Bruce Wayne!"  
  
Robert leaned forward in his chair, "So how about it, Mister   
Wayne? Can we count you in?"  
  
Wayne picked up a cup of coffee from the tray and looked over in   
the direction of his guests, "Sure boys, I'm in. Just make sure   
you add some disclaimer that everything in the books are fictional   
and I'm not really the Batman and I'll be fine with it." Wayne   
smiled pleasantly at the two young men, who were surprised and   
overjoyed at his decision.  
  
"S-sure thing, Mister Wayne," Robert said with a smile. "I'll   
call the publisher in the morning and have him get our legal   
people right on it. It shouldn't be a problem though."  
  
"Well I'd appreciate it, fellas," Wayne said with another winning   
smile. "The last thing I need is to be bothered by a bunch crooks   
who think I'm the Batman. I've got enough problems of my own."   
Wayne raised his cup to his guests and said, "To the Batman,   
gentlemen, may our association be a long and happy one."  
  
"To the Batman!" Robert and Willie said heartily as the three men   
brought their glasses together.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
EPILOGUE: GOTHAM GREYHOUND BUS TERMINAL, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 27,   
1938...  
  
The small group gathered around the station, waiting for the bus   
to New York to arrive. Robert and Willie waited among the crowd,   
still smiles with a photostat of their agreement with Bruce Wayne   
in their bags. Robert had been working on some drawings of a   
young boy who was sitting at a table writing.  
  
"So are you glad you came?" Robert said not looking up from his   
sketch, "We got what we came for and got to see the Batman in   
action."  
  
"We can't use everything we saw here though." Willie answered.   
"I mean the kid's something we might be able to work in, but   
Batman working with a girl might not fly if she's not his   
girlfriend or something."  
  
"Well what about the High?" Robert asked. "I hear he works with a   
woman sometimes."  
  
"That's Jerry and Joe's problem," Willie answered, "not ours."  
  
"We got the Batman." Robert said shaking his head, "I still can't   
believe we got Wayne's cooperation too, it's going to be one heck   
of a funny book."  
  
"Are you sure kids want to read about the Batman?" Willie asked   
with mock uncertainty.  
  
"Let's find out," Robert said putting his pad away. He crossed   
the room over to the boy who was writing at the table. "Hey,   
kid."  
  
The boy looked up from his page at Robert, "You talkin' to me,   
Mister?"  
  
Robert nodded, "Yeah kid, I want to ask you a question, it's worth   
a buck to me if you can help me and friend settle something."  
  
"A whole dollar?!" the boy said with wide eyes, "that's ten   
Startling Stories!"  
  
"That's right, kid," Robert said. "So how about it? You wanna   
help us out?"  
  
"Sure!" the boy exclaimed with a wide grin at his impending   
fortune.  
  
"If there were a funny book about the Batman, would you buy it?"  
  
"You bet!" the boy answered enthusiastically. "Batman's tops in   
my book!"  
  
"What if he had a kid sidekick?" Willie asked.  
  
"You mean like Cap and Bucky?" the boy inquired, "Gee, that would   
be the best!"  
  
"What about if he had a girl with him?" Robert said. "Not some   
girl he had to rescue, but a girl in his cases."  
  
"Aw girls are okay for savin' and stuff, even as one of the bad   
guys, but I don't know if he should run around with a girl. I   
mean the Shadow doesn't have girl for a partner."  
  
"The public has spoken," Robert said with a smile.   
  
"I suppose he has," Willie said in agreement.  
  
"Hey," the boy said interrupting the banter between the two   
partners, "are you guys doing a Batman funny book?"  
  
"You better believe it kid, you're meeting the guys who are be   
bringing you Batman before the end of next year," Robert announced   
proudly. "I'm Robert Kane, this here's my pal Willie Finger. I'm   
drawing, he's writing."  
  
"Gee that's great!" the boy answered. "Hey maybe I can write a   
story when I get older."  
  
"Anything's possible kid," Willie answered, "here's that dollar."   
Willie handed the boy a crisp bill and watched him smile brightly.  
  
"Here, kid," Robert added, handing the boy a bill of his own,   
"your help was worth the two bucks."  
  
"Gee thanks fellas!" The boy looked up at the pair, "Now I can   
get some Sandman's too!"  
  
"Tell you what kid," Robert said, "give us you're name and when   
the book comes out, we'll send you a free copy."  
  
The speaker blared that the bus to New York had arrived and was   
boarding. Willie pulled out his notebook and flipped through a   
couple of pages, "You'd better make it quick kid, that's our ride.   
Now what's the name?"  
  
"Tony," the boy said with a bright smile, "Tony Wilson."  
  
The two men ruffled Tony's hair, "All right Tony, you've got a   
Batman funny book when we put it out, just write your address   
here." The boy complied as the pair collected their bags. Tony   
followed the pair out to the bus and watched them board it.   
  
"Take care of yourself, kid!" Robert said as he stepped through   
the door.  
  
"Yeah, kid," Willie added, "keep up the writing and someday you   
might get a shot at a story or two yourself."  
  
As the bus pulled out of the station and headed off to its   
destination, Tony went back into the diner and started writing   
again.  
  
"Someday," the boy said earnestly looking at the horizon that the   
bus was starting to fade into, "I'll make good on that, folks are   
going to read my stories too." The boy looked back at the page   
and let his imagination run free across it as he gave his   
daydreams form with his written words.  
  
-- Here Endth the Story --  
  
*****************************************************  
  
KNIGHTMAIL:  
  
Send your comments to SEricAli1@aol.com be sure to put   
"Knightmail" in the subject line...  
  
The story behind the story, I'd meant to do this last year as a   
tribute to the late Bob Kane when news of his passing was made   
public. I wanted my tribute to the man who created Batman to be   
something more than a few lines about what a wonderful guy he must   
have been, I couldn't say that, I'd never met Bob Kane much less   
gotten to know him through anything other than his creation,   
Batman. So instead of talking about the man I never as if I knew   
him, I decided instead to have him meet up with his creation and   
be inspired in a "life imitating art" way. The little I did know   
about Kane told of his inspiration about the Batman from a film   
called the Bat as well as some other elements of characters like   
the Shadow. It also seemed fair to touch on the various titles   
that Batman the character inspired, hence the chapter titles being   
variations on the titles of the many series that have prominently   
featured the character (The only exceptions being the Catwoman,   
Black Canary and the Spectre).  
  
"The Sincerest Form Of Flattery" is, I hope, exactly what I   
intended it to be, a celebration of Bob Kane, the often unsung   
Bill Finger and their creation, the Batman. The cameo list on   
this one is pretty extensive, but for the most part, the only one   
I'm interested in at the moment is the last one, Tony Wilson.   
Just like Batman would not have been possible without Bob Kane and   
Bill Finger's contribution, Gotham Knights would not have been   
possible without Tony's inspired first issue which basically   
fueled my own work on the title back when YesterYear was running.   
My direct thanks to Tony for giving me a great starting point and   
my gratitude to Mister Kane and Mister Finger for creating a   
character with such staying power. I'd like to also thank those   
of you who stopped by and read GK and all the other YY titles,   
it's folks like you that made what we did so much fun...  
  
The back issues from the last reboot are still up at the site so   
wing by and read 'em again!  
  
Later - Ali  
  
"If I weren't rich, I could've been a great man..."  
  
Orson Welles as Charles Foster Kane in "Citizen Kane"...  
  
  



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